Blind Faith
by MozartsRequiem
Summary: Her collarbone was sharp beneath his hand. He felt her breath rising and falling unevenly, perhaps in panic. In between her silent, wild gasps, Voldemort felt a heart shuddering somewhere. Perhaps she thought he meant to strangle her. Perhaps he should.
1. Great Is Their Faithfulness

They came up from the black water like a battalion of abused skeletons. Dressed in cloudy grey, the prisoners-turned-fugitives emerged, sopping, and dropped into the damp, dark sand. Not all of them managed to succeed against the unforgiving undertow and many limp frames were dragged back, limbs flopping weakly. Some of them never surfaced again, leaving the shoreline with the simple, desperate memory of a hand or a forehead slipping beneath the murk. Those that pulled forward, clawed at the beach, clinging with ragged and grubby nails. One, spewing seawater from his mouth, clutched a knot in his strained muscles. Another collapsed on his hands and knees. His long, matted hair was draped over his head and dripping with cold water. None of them spoke for nearly a quarter of the hour. They rested there, an unmoving dozen, on the bank, allowing the murky waves to scrape at them.

Anxious, bright eyes opened, darting in the deep pits they used for sockets. The side of her face was buried in the sand. She dug her fingers into the dirt, taking in a gasping, awakened breath, spitting out sour water and drawing in dusty sand. The woman was the first to stir, coughing. A set of soaking, tattered and soiled robes clung to her rigid frame like damp paper. She tensed, seeming to have found purpose, and tried to rise, making a small, confused noise. A few other heads turned, a few other muscles were inspired, a few other memories were recovered. A man sporting arching shoulder blades sat up with a grimace. He watched the woman shakily push herself up onto her hands and knees. Another man, across the sand, gave a howl of pain when he tried to sit up, suffering from some hurt in his leg.

The woman, galvanized, began her crawl away from the water.

She passed one of the larger framed men, who wore skin that held tight to his face and forgotten muscles that drooped from his arms. The man looked at her as she struggled along. Something was sparked within the grottos of his ravaged mind. He lugged himself to the woman and opened his mouth to speak when she became aware of his presence. Only a gargle and a grating sound came from his throat and he choked. The man tried to speak again, managing a small noise. She stopped in her travel and craned her weedy neck to glance at him, squinting in the darkness to make out his face. After a moment, she turned without a sound, save for her pained breathing, and tottered onwards, continuing her mission.

"Bel..." he rasped, his voice deep and gravely, like a neglected cello. A willowy man let out a delirious cry that seemed to be half a laugh and half a sob, a little ways away, his teeth gnashing. "Bella...Bellatrix." The large man who watching the woman managed her name and she stopped again. He hoped she'd turn back to him once more, but she seemed to only want to try to walk. Struggling and ignoring the man and her name, Bellatrix crouched and then, with a grunt, she breached upwards in an attempt to stand. Her weary legs trembled beneath her. She quickly lost her footing and found herself in a crumpled heap in the sand once again.

A stronger, younger looking man with cleaner robes, was the first to successfully stand. His hair only came to his shoulders and though his skin was pale, it was not stretched tight. He looked back across the churning waters. An older, skinnier man was crying a little and scratching, in deranged habit, at the raw skin on his neck.

"Kiss…" the older man wheezed, his eyes distant and horrified, "Kiss." The young man who had stood spoke, his voice fuller, but somehow hollow,

"We can't…" he took a breath, his muscles aching from swimming across the channel, "can't stay here." A few pairs of eyes looked at him and he limped to where Bellatrix was headed, towards the higher, rockier dunes, towards the foreboding edge of a forest. Looming grey trees seemed to be stretching to glare at the criminals. "Come on." Encouraged the limping, younger man roughly as he tried to stir some of his fellows near the shore, "The tide."

"Bellatrix." growled the large man, who was trying to get her attention again. "Where are you going?" She threw herself up again, trying to stand and fell.

"Him..." she hissed the word reverently, her vocal cords scraping together so that she coughed again. "To Him."

"Wait." He was determined to reach her though he was unsure of how he knew her name. He had his suspicions, but so many memories had been stolen from him, it was hard to tell. The name was so familiar. "Me." Each sound he made hurt. For years he had screamed. He had screamed until his throat was tattered and throbbing and then all sound ceased.

Bellatrix stopped for a rest, the sand drier where she lay. The man pulled towards her, his legs feeling dead behind him. He reached the lady and knelt, dizzy, beside her. Bright eyes found him.

The two fugitives stared at each other for a few minutes, studying the other while rest of the group stirred behind them. Through the thicket of the dark hair she bore, the man saw a shadow of a memory. Her eyes were set deep in her skull, her nose more pronounced, her once rosy cheeks, were now two caverns on either side of her face. Her lips were bland and cracked. She made a noise in the back of her throat, scooting a little away, her eyes as wild as if she had seen a horrific phantasm. He grunted to her, moving after her,

"Me." He choked while Bellatrix pursed her lips and sifted sand through her twiggy fingers, searching her small collection of memories. She blinked hard. "Me."

"Who." She demanded of him, glancing towards the forest again, not forgetting her goal. The question was, tragically, almost too hard for him to answer. Finally he decided,

"Lestrange." He told her. Bellatrix blinked again.

"Me." She said defensively, "That's me."

"Maybe." Lestrange droned. She seemed to be near recognition of him when she began to sputter again, each cough racking her frail body. Bellatrix doubled over on herself, sprawling on the grey ground, her harsh breaths pushing sand away from her mouth.

"He's sick too." Said the young man who had limped towards them, thinking Bellatrix to be a man.

"She." Lestrange rumbled. The healthier man tensed, looking again at the skeletal creature that was coughing,

"Is that…" he hissed, "Oh, look at her."

"Be...Bellatrix. That is…Bell…" Lestrange informed the younger man. Bellatrix had stopped coughing and began panting again.

"We've..." someone screeched, kneeling, "we've done it!" His face was the worst of all. His sharp features were accentuated, his eyes bulging among dark circles. His hair was longest, falling around him like a curtain.

"Lestranges?" said the younger man, not paying attention to the crazed jubilation behind him. Lestrange nodded,

"Remember me? Dolan? Wicket? Dolan Wicket?" No response. "You're Rodolphus, aren't you?" Rodolphus Lestrange looked at his hands, thinking, "Rodolphus?"

"...doesn't matter." Bellatrix groaned, sitting straight again, her shoulders shaking, "we have to go back." Her lip was bleeding now, she had not spoken for so long that her lips had chapped. Bellatrix put her tongue to the cut.

"How long did we swim?" questioned a beady-eyed man, trying to sit up, his voice cracking near the end of his inquiry,

"...don't know." Managed Rodolphus,

"Two kilometers." Wicket garbled. Bellatrix, brushing a tangle of hair from her damp face, began to cough lightly again. The wind was picking up and the tide began to calm itself.

"Two..." another healthier man clutched his side, "only two? It-it felt like..." he winced, "like twenty." Bellatrix slumped, trying to catch her breath before her next attempt towards the woods.

"Nicholas Morille?" asked Wicket, clearing his throat. Still holding his side, Nicholas Morille looked up through beady eyes at Dolan Wicket,

"Yeah."

"I need a wand." Came a cry from near the water, "A potion…"Morille wavered but managed to stand.

"We need healers. We need somewhere to rest." He said,

"No one will have us." Wicket stated,

"Well, we can't stay out here…"

"I know that." Wicket frowned.

"We can't stay...we-"

"Wait." Croaked Rodolphus quickly. Bellatrix's brittle hand had brushed her husband's wrist. She withdrew as if she had been burnt upon contact. Hissing through her teeth, she looked at her fingers. For an instant they had tingled. She did not look at Rudolphus' eyes.

"What?" asked Morille gratingly, falling to his knees in the sand again. They didn't answer, "What?" He tried again.

"Again." Rodolphus said huskily.

"No." She spat. Wicket understood,

"They haven't felt human touch…"

"How long?"

"Fourteen years, maybe…:

"Fifteen!" raved Bellatrix, "Fifteen years, s-seven months, two weeks, three days. Fifteen years, seven months, two-two weeks, three days…" She continued to repeat,

"What do we do?" asked Wicket, watching Rodolphus reach for his wife's ankle as she crawled away mumbling.

"All we need to do is steal one wand without being seen." Grumbled Morille,

"Where are we going?" asked an old man, missing most of his teeth,

"I don't know." Admitted Morille, "Where the hell are we?"

"We'll just kill some mental old cove."

"But are we nearest to muggles or wizards?"

"Muggles…" growled someone else dangerously from the ground,

"Dementor!" the man with the longest hair wailed in a panic, his voice shrill, he gripped the sand tightly, nails digging deep in the gravel. The toothless man jumped to his feet, shaking, "Dementor! Dementor!" In a tangle of limbs Bellatrix turned on her stomach and buried her head with her arms, sobbing loudly into the sand.

Heads whipped about, stray drops launching themselves out of the prisoners' long hair and onto the grey sand. Wicket didn't scream like most of the others did, but surveyed the calm, clear sky, his chest rising high a little with caged panic.

"None!" he rasped over the din of his companions. "None!" He marched towards the longest haired man, minding Bellatrix's wriggling form and knelt, his dull, damp robes swinging, to grab him by the shoulder. "There aren't any here!" He barked.

"None." Said Morille, finally calming down after whipping around wildly, but Bellatrix still howled, along with the crazed man and a few others.

They all knew the dementors too well. They were alarming creatures that occupied Azkaban, the wizard prison. They drifted about the halls sporting tattered cloaks that covered their featureless faces. They slipped into the criminals' cells and sucked out happy memories with cold, frigid kisses. There were no prison wraiths to be found on the beach, however.

Rodolphus dared to reach for the troubled woman, again. He craved her warmth. Bellatrix shrieked when he touched her, tossing onto her back and thrashing violently. In her madness she gritted her teeth and tugged at her lengthy matted hair. Rodolphus drew back in surprise after being hit once by one of her flailing limbs.

"No!" she screeched, "No! Get away! Go away! No!" Rodolphus blinked, withdrawing his skeletal hand as Morille told him,

"That's right. You'd best get away from her…"

"What did you do, Nicholas?" Wicket from little ways away, turned with his brow furrowed.

"I didn't do anything!" Defended Morille, over Bella's screeching,"He grabbed her! She got upset…"

"Fine! Just shut her up!" Wicket said, coming closer, "As if I don't have enough of a headache!" he looked down at the woman as Morille tried to coax her back to sanity, keeping his distance.

"No! Get away! I said, get away!"

"Quiet, Quiet, we're going to Master!" He told her as Rodolphus watched from where he sat, looking wearier than ever. The other fugitives had quieted, some peering at the trees beyond the far stretches of grey rocks and others squinting out to sea, still wary of the spectral guards they had abandoned. "…to The Dark Lord."

"He might not even want her anymore…" commented Wicket darkly, looking down upon her contorted face.

"Shut up." Morille warned, having finally managed to get her to stop yelling. "There."

"Now what? Is there anyone else capable of more than drooling?" Wicket scoffed, glancing at the sordid group, "Is he dead?" Morille saw the unlucky fugitive, too. He was lying on his side, near the groping waves, not shivering like the others, with his arms relaxed.

"When we start moving I guess we'll find out." He noticed Wicket surveying the trees at the edge of the beach but continued to study the man, "Poor blighter, after that swim."

"Well, it's not me. It's not you." Wicket noted, pitilessly. Brushing back his mane of dark hair, he asked, "Where do you suppose those trees go?"

"No idea." Morille replied, taking a final glance at the way they had come, "But we'd better hurry. There's fog coming." Wicket knew very well what that meant. Dementors spawned in foggy conditions. Bellatrix was mumbling again.

"Come on! Get up. We need to go." Wicket signaled to the others, shaking the drowsy Rolphus from his stupor.

"Where are we going?" Lestrange managed through tortured vocal chords.

"To find Master."

"Fifteen years, s-seven months, two weeks, three days. Fifteen years, seven months, two-two weeks, three days…" Bellatrix chanted mindlessly, crawling after Wicket, her deranged gaze fixed on the darkness of the looming trees. Rodolphus followed.

The fugitives made their lethargic pilgrimage towards the forest, lugging their drained bodies across the sand. Their long robes and hair hung from them like bothersome shadows. Though their legs were numb. They were cold with sweat and hot with fever, every breath through worn lungs was for their Master, newly arisen. They continued onwards, leaving imprints like limp, unraveled ribbons on the shore behind. The fog watched them progress towards their old lives.


	2. The Beholder

CHAPTER TWO: THE BEHOLDER

One thing I ask of the LORD, this is what I seek: that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the LORD…

(Psalms 27:4)

The Riddle Manor sat silently on the hillside most of the year. The wrought iron gates that surrounded the massive expanse of property had lost their impressive shine over the years, giving way to a more sinister personality. Vines had begun to selfishly devour the gigantic estate and had already managed to engulf the entire south wall. No one in the town below talked about it much anymore. Only, last year, the old gardener disappeared without so much as a hair left behind. Most speculated that the creature had gotten to him. The creature, as people called it, could be seen as a mere parting of the tall, un-kept grasses. It slithered and slunk around the property, occasionally poking its scaly head out of the underbrush. The house was rumored to be abandoned completely after the last attack, but if someone had pressed their face to the foggy glass and looked through a hole in the board secured over one of the windows, they would find themselves to be quite wrong.

The expansive parlor was lit with dim candles, so as not to attract attention from the public. People in uniformed, hooded, black robes and pristine white masks crowded the space. Some talked in shadowy corners, others drank rich red wine, and others laughed shrilly in the center of the room.

On a sagging couch near the window sat three men with their masks removed. One, on the far right seemed small and misshapen. One of his shoulders was higher than the other, his eyes were slightly off set, and unkempt stubble covered the lower half of his thin face. The man on the left was quite the opposite. He was one of the largest in the room with a broad chest and huge, gnarled hands that appeared to have handled one too many knives. His face was distressing, in the least, and it was illuminated by the soft, orange, pulsing light from the butt of his cigarette. His hard eyes roved over everyone in the room as he smoked. Wriggling his thin, dark moustache, he felt the sting of the smog in his nostrils. The man between them had his hood removed completely so that all of his facial features were vainly displayed. Between the two dark men, his radiant blonde hair and fair complexion seemed to glow. His eyes were not soft, but stony, heartless and grey. After sipping his wine, he smirked in artful arrogance as the giant man on the left muttered something angrily. It was not his high, ironically heroic cheekbones, his pearly and perfectly aligned teeth, or his cool aristocratic airs that would make one loathe him. It was simply the gaze he presented to nearly every other man he talked to that subtly screamed of his sophisticated conceit and haughtiness.

"Wormtail." He called across the room, "Knott has spilled some of the wine. I am, I'm afraid, a tad under practiced in cleaning charms. Would you mind?"

Wormtail turned, showing his mousy face. His jowls were prominent and shone with grease and it looked as if he had stuffed food inside his cheeks for safe keeping. His nose was a small nub low on his face and covered with shining pink blemishes. Strangest and perhaps most unfortunate were his prominent, protruding front teeth that showed themselves in an unforgiving over bite. The only thing attractive about him was his right hand. It was metallic silver, that matched the platter that he held. It appeared bionic but glove-like without bolts or hinges. Along the smallest finger and running down the back of it was a delicate patterned or perhaps an inscription.

"You clean it. One of you.

"Wormtail, please." Malfoy snickered,

"Just clean it up." Mcair chuckled gravelly, his large shoulders heaving.

"It's just a simple spell, really. I'm sure you're quite good at it." Malfoy finished, "And it is what you're here for."

The mousy man drew a wand from his robes and walked over to Malfoy. For a moment, it would have seemed that Wormtail was going to do something terrible to the older man, but he merely uttered a small spell at the broken glass and spilled draught. The cup refashioned itself and the wine disappeared into the floor.

"Impressive."

"Now get us a better year or something." Growled McNair harshly. Wormtail made a small sound,

"Here." He handed them a bottle from the platter, "Pour it yourself…"

"He's beginning to sound like your wife." Knott garbled to McNair. McNair raised his eyebrows,

"Which one?"

"The last one."

Heads turned as a creak came on the stairs. A man dressed in uniform with his mask off and hood down descended the large staircase. He had black, shoulder length hair that shone with oil. He gazed cynically down at the others over his large, hooked nose. When he reached the bottom, the deformed man on the sofa rasped,

"What did he say, Snape?" It was the question on everyone's mind. Snape seemed pleased with the attention. He spoke, his voice deep and heartless,

"I believe he summoned me and me only, Knott." Knott frowned. Snape appeared unfortunate and unforgiving with arching eyebrows, a small mouth, and the deepest, knowing eyes that delivered judgment over his sharply hooked nose.

"Severus," Malfoy addressed Snape by his first name, "did He say anything that involves the boy?" He leaned forward, intrigued, his black robes shifting,

"Lucius, " Severus said, looking up at Malfoy from his seat, "I don't think you heard what I just said..." Wormtail strode sulkily across the parlor, grudgingly serving some men new drinks.

"So it's _all_ confidential, then?" Lucius snorted,

"No, only the things you would take interest in." The majority of men in the room couldn't guess whether Lucius and Severus were adversaries or friends.

"You're so important, aren't you, Severus..." said a quiet voice to Snape's left. Jasper Spade, his hood still up, looked at his hands, the faint smile on his thin lips dripping with sarcasm. His skin was sallow as he spent little time in the sun due to the fact that he bred pigmy dragons illegally for a fight club beneath London's streets. His hands were strange and small, with dark stuff under the nails. His long hair dripped down his chest. It was long and looked coarse and retained a burnt red color that made his eyes bright.

"It's all relative." Said Snape casually, "Wormtail, might I have some wine?" Spade pursed his lips and fell back to his strange silence. Lucius rolled his eyes, "How are all of you? How is Miranda?" He asked of McNair who had just remarried after the death of his third wife,

"Still sort of quiet." Said McNair, "We're doing well."

"Good, good." Snape called a little ways away, "Wormtail? Wine?" Wormtail ignored him and he frowned, then asking of the men on the sofa, "And your recent mission, Knott? To Germany…"

"Let's not talk about that." Knott warned, crossing his eyes in embarrassment.

"Ah…" said Snape absentmindedly, asking again for a drink, "Wormtail?"

"Get it yourself..."

Suddenly, the room quieted and the men stepped back slightly from the edge of the staircase in solemn reverence. A wizard had appeared.

His skeletally thin hand slid gently along the dusty railing. The skin looked slippery, delicate, like milky lace, draped carefully over sharp, pearly knuckles. Slim, blue serpents wove their way from the defined wrist, prominent beneath the soft skin, pumping prized blood to lean fingers. Those fingers, that caressed the aged, trusting wood, lulling it into a false sense of security, were terrifying in that the power they commanded was masked by an exquisite gracility. "Good evening, my friends." He hissed to them. Every single head in the room bowed in fanatic veneration.

"Good evening, Master." Most replied in unison. The hand stopped its journey on the railing, still high above the men below,

"I have much to tell you." A few glances were shot at the proud and cryptic Severus. Everyone hung on each breath of their Lord's, "Our dear Cornelius continues to politely refuse to acknowledge my existence." He spoke of the Minister of Magic. " Any of you who see him," The fingers smirked, flexing confidently, their extensive, pristine, and sculpted nails glinting dully, "be sure to send my personal thanks." There were smiles passed through the crowd. The Minister of Magic, for some reason had not confirmed word of the Dark Lord's return. Although a small group of a more liberal crowd was attempting to prove the Minister and most of the population wrong, they were looked down upon as raving revolutionaries, jealous of the Minister's power. "We do not have to be modest at the moment. Of course, who would believe a silly little boy? The Ministry is so proud at the moment that all they want to do is shut him up. Either they are too proud or too afraid, so they continue to avoid getting their hands dirty with investigations and such. Ignorance, I have heard, is blissful." Lucius gave a snicker, "I am not suggesting walking into the Ministry in your uniforms, but if you do any excessive work the next few moths, you will not be penalized. You will, in fact, receive quite the opposite if what you find is useful to me." Severus nodded. Lucius frowned slightly. He speculated that Severus must have done something to please his Master. "I have just recently discovered that I have a power I have not utilized yet." Their master announced proudly, "Unfortunately for my health, I have ventured into the dreams of a fifteen year old boy." Some scoffed, knowingly. "Fortunately for our cause, I can do it again."

Silence. The fingers coiled around the railing in excitement and arrogance. Bones down it's back rose up stiffly. "I can send visions of falsities that will drive him to madness." All gazed up at their leader with eager faces, "That and the fact that I am toying with plans for an assassination of Cornelius Fudge is all I wish to disclose at the present time." Fingers relaxed, "Before the summer, everything shall be over and done." He took a breath, "But, there is still a single thing that irks me. If just one of you is not careful enough, we will be found out. We cannot rely on the Ministry's fear for much longer. Expose me and die." He stated as if it were the simplest thing in the world, "I shall decide when I am presented to the government and to the Wizarding World. I know it is hard, but continue to contain yourselves. Do not boast or brag about my return to anyone, not even your wives or closest companions…" Voldemort's eyes glinted, "At the present, I need workers to enter the Department of Mysteries and such. We cannot afford to focus our attentions to any other new projects. I still want to contact the werewolves later this year perhaps so do not anger any of their leaders." He paused, "Now, tell me of the bargain with the vampires, Spade."

Spade had removed his hood in respect for his Master. Eyes turned to the rosy haired man,

"It went fairly well," he explained, muscles tense under pressure, "However, they were very specific again in that they wanted assurance that they would not be working alongside werewolves…"

"Yes, I know that Spade."

"And you know that they will not fight for us if we are at all involved with the lycanths…"

"Spade, do not worry. I will sort their old prejudices out. Our cause can unite them, I'm sure. Did they say that they would accept my offer?"

"Yes, oh, yes, they were very eager…"

There was a knock at the door. There was whispering amongst the crowd.

"Stay your wands." The Lord said quietly to his followers. The knocking came again. There was a shuffling of bodies in the parlor, "Open it." They stared at him, "Open it." He said confidently, raising his hand from the wood and preparing exterminate the pest. McNair rose from his seat and lifted the latch as the impatient rapping was heard for a third time. He stepped back as the one of two huge oak doors began to open. The Dark Lord took two steps down in curiosity.

Wands were lowered as a troupe of fugitives emerged from the misty evening. There was a thud as a decrepit man fell forward from the stoop and hit the tile in the entryway, exhausted. Half of his body still lay outside in the frosty rain. Others came after him, stepping over him, disregarding him, drawn inside like ghostly moths to a lantern. The room was quiet for a moment, but soon whispers of names echoed around the spacious parlor. The skeletal new comers were showered with curious, amazed, horrified, and relieved stares. A larger man coming in from the outside, supported a woman who looked as if she had just re-mastered walking on twiggy legs. He panted with the effort, but refused to let her fall. The dozen stood shivering from cold, fear, and excitement, their weak hearts thumping with new, welcome energy. Not many looked around the parlor at the men in robes, but they had their eyes fixed upon the man on the stairs. A few people in dark robes carefully pulled the collapsed fugitive from the porch, he was a feather, effortless to lift. The woman supported by the man pushed him away and although he protested, she managed to pry his weedy hands from her arm. She fell, with a snapping sound, but she quickly began to crawl, like an infant, as fast as her under practiced and eager body could take her, towards the man descending the staircase as if he were a god. Her lips stretched and coiled at the ends, some more cracks emitting small amounts of blood. At first it looked like an agonizing grimace and to anyone else it would have appeared to be nothing more. Bellatrix was smiling.

"Master..." she strained, her voice was frail, like a brown, curling leaf being rattled by an autumn wind. "Master." She whispered, trying to drink all of him in with her watery eyes. The robes he wore played about his feet like black ink in rippling water while he moved to her and his dark mantle trailed behind him, a shadow, dripping down the last of the stairs. His hands, feet, and neck shone bright and pale as limestone against the shady fabrics. And his face, his face seemed to be illuminated. It was a haunting face, with small, flaring slits where nostrils of a nose should have been, absent eyebrows, a sharp chin, and sculpted, arching cheek bones. He had no hair upon his head, revealing all the graceful curves of his skull beneath bone white skin. Glistening, lustrous, petal-shaped eyes rested esoterically deep inside murky sockets. His gaze was a piercing, rare, and vibrant red and the Dark Lord stared down at his servant, "My Lord..." she choked, "You're alive. You're beautiful…" Her voice quaked with countless, reawakened emotions.

"You've returned." He uttered,

"I knew-I knew you would come back." She managed, babbling almost dementedly, "I waited. I waited, Master. I did. I never doubted you...never…I knew you would…" and the witch began to choke slightly with the strain she was putting on her sensitive throat with renewed excitement, "Fifteen years, seven months, three weeks, five…."

"Bella..." The Dark Lord breathed, still trying to comprehend how they had all returned to him. Hearing that name from his tongue made all of Bella's muscles shake.

"Seven months, three w-weeks, five days. Fifteen…" She stopped, unable to go on, her mutilated lips twitched as he helped her rediscover her identity. She felt something hot begin to erupt from behind her eyes, her nose stung, and small, overcome, wheezy, whimpers escaped her. Her chest heaved and she could not take her eyes from him. "Fifteen…"

"Bella." He said her name again. Breaking out into unbridled sobs and coughs, Bellatrix zealously threw herself at his feet and kissed the hem of his robes over and over with her quivering, cracked lips. Voldemort smiled down upon her kindly, nearly disbelievingly. The others near the door had started to move towards their master, spectral disciples, some of their faces solemn, some terrified, most tear stricken. He welcomed them, gazing at them with his brilliant, ruby eyes. As they approached him, the Dark Lord, however, spoke to the uniformed crowd. "These lucky few are to be favored among you. They have sacrificed mind, body, and soul for this cause." Voldemort then addressed the fugitives before him. "How did you manage?"

"Escape, my Lord?" rasped Wicket, bowing low to his master.

"Yes, tell the rest of them." Voldemort, a skilled mind

reader, could have easily invaded one of their minds, but it appeared he wanted his honored servants to retell their journey,

"The dementors aided us." Said Wicket, to the surprise of the crowd. Voldemort's lips curled and his shoulders lowered as if relieved, "They opened our chambers and did not bother us…"

"A miracle." Added Morille. The uniformed men in the room began to murmur at the report and the Dark Lord continued to smile and looked fondly upon his sickly followers who had all prostrated themselves before him and had begun to tentatively touch the hem of his robes or his sleeves. Voldemort accepted them warmly, glowing with self-content. While they stroked him carefully, he went on,

"You will find rest, now. I will give you peace." He paused as they thanked him fervently, Bellatrix could only hum into his feet, too overcome, "We have much work to do and I have much to inform you of. But tonight is to be a celebration in your honor, well, the first celebration of many. Where are the Lestranges? Yes, yes, Bella, but gentlemen? Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestange, make yourselves known to me." He requested. The fugitives began to peel back from their master's feet, waiting for the Lestranges to show themselves. Rodolphus, the first, rose from his knees with great effort, his long, damp hair swinging. Voldemort nodded to him, recognizing his eyes, amazed at how he all his former power had fled from him. Another man stood, with round eyes. However, just moments later, another man hobbled forward, his knees shaking, his hair the longest of the group. "What?" The Dark Lord frowned, Bella looked up from her place at his feet, confused as he was. There was a bit of noise from the on lookers when, suddenly, a third man stood, his nose sharp and defined. "What is this?" The three men stared forward, blankly, "Which one of you is Rabastan Lestrange?" There was a pause as they glanced at each other curiously, as if they were just as eager to know as everyone else in the room. "Rabastan Benjamin Lestrange." Voldemort moved forward, leaving the merry, shaking Bellatrix by the stairs. He stood before the men skeptically, his lengthy, nearly forked tongue flickering from behind his teeth and lips, smelling for lies on the air. He smelled nothing but confusion and hope from the men. Making a small, curious sound he looked into the eyes of each, grime man and found nothing but hellish memories of dementors and garbled recollections of childhood homes and school hallways. Giving up, he turned to Rabastan's older brother, "Rodolphus, which of these is Rabastan?" The men looked at Rodolphus, examining him as he examined them. After a time Rodolphus said, defeated,

"I am not sure…I think he is." He pointed to the round-eyed man. The crowd of uniformed men was just beginning to realize the effects a long stay in the prison more fully and it chilled them. A man did not remember his own brother's face. Voldemort nodded and the two other men, convinced, a minute ago, that they were Rabastan Lestrange, sat, even more troubled and perplexed. Voldemort turned and ascended the first few stairs again, passing Bella, all faces turning up to look at him. He cleared his throat and announced, gazing down at the two men and the woman.

"These three are the most faithful." He proclaimed with the pride of a father, "They have served me well and never lost faith…

"Never…" repeated Bella reverently under her breath, a devoted parrot,

"No one has ever returned to me after such a long stay. They held tight to my memory for over fifteen years. They sacrificed everything to find me…such sacrifices." He paused, interrupted by strange noises coming from Bellatrix again, "To lose memories of each other's faces for me and to still return…Of course, I expected nothing less from these faithful three." By this point, Bella was crippled by huffing, joyous sobs and Voldemort had to speak over her, "Look to them as your betters and learn from their example." There was applause and the Dark Lord spoke of the entire group "Look to all of these fine men for strength and inspiration." and then Voldemort directed his speech to the Lestranges, "However, you three shall be rewarded more than any for your astounding, honorable loyalties." Bellatrix had managed to sit up, her shoulders heaving

"M-master." She rasped beneath the applause that had began again,

"Yes, Bella?" he replied. Bella shuddered with renewed adoration, continuing gracelessly in her emotional state, and the room quieted to hear the exchange.

"Only, um, to touch your face so I can no that you are real," she inhaled sharply, "would be reward e-enough." Voldemort let out a silent breath, amazed at her humility. Receiving no refutation, she stood on shaky legs never taking here eyes away from her Lord's. She stopped,

"Don't worry." He encouraged, "Go on. Don't be afraid."

"I'm…" Reaching out carefully, she touched his face. She never finished what she was going to say because the excitement of it was too overpowering. Bella was tentative at first, prodding his cheek meekly with a grubby finger like an inquisitive infant. It was smooth, softer than she expected, with a pleasant moistness and fineness. The sensation of a small, awaited touch that she had hoped for, counted on for years was strangely simple and yet, the most rapturous thing she could feel. Soon, she found the confidence to rub her palm on the sharp line of his jaw. It had been a bold request, it was rare for someone to come near to the Dark Lord, but to touch him was a sign of true approbation. The room had to accept that Voldemort had found a new second.

Voldemort studied her face, which was screwed up with contained emotions, eyes squinting a bit, mouth shaking. Had it been only fifteen years? He was sure it was longer. Though, from beyond her stretched skin and her matted tresses he still recognized the lady that looked at him so fondly. His eyes roved over her trying to remember and memorize every angle. Her eyes were as deep and dark as he remembered. Her lips were not as rich, but the color would return. Her eyelashes were still extensive and her eyelids were darker than ever. He noticed her neck. It was as slender as a swans and deathly so. Cheeks sunken, eyes tired, hair ragged, lips bloody, and teeth yellowing, Voldemort thought he looked into a nothing less than saintly visage of a martyr.

She closed her eyes, swallowed hard, and let hot tears stream down her sullied cheeks. A rumbling rose up in her throat, a rumbling that turned to a series of sharp whines and then, in joyous jubilation, she fell to her knees and allowed a scream to escape her. Voldemort was the only one not taken aback at the volume, passion, and hideousness of the sound. Some men cringed, others blinked hard, stunned. Wormtail fretted, glancing at the door, still slightly ajar. He said to McNair nervously during break in the elated dissonance,

"The muggles will hear!" Voldemort seemed deeply insulted and reprimanded the small man, marching over towards him with a wave of his arm,

"Then let them hear, then!" Voldemort screamed to the open doors, "Let the entire world hear!" Some men recoiled with fear when Voldemort swooped down upon Wormtail and grabbed his shoulder. The small man squirmed in the Dark Lord's firm grasp and beneath the direct heat of his temper, "You should learn from Bella, Wormtail." He hissed viciously. Bellatrix, still kneeling on the first stair seemed to have tired herself out. All that she could manage now was a happy, high and husky laugh.

"Yes, M-My Lord..." Wormtail sputtered. Voldemort sniffed through his nostrils,

"You wreak of jealousy." He remarked, his thin, upper-lip curling, "Tell me, Wormtail, do you wish to be honored like Bellatrix, Rodolphus and Rabastan?" Wormtail merely whimpered in response, "Do you wish for missions so dangerous…" he stopped, snorting at his servant, "Coward." Snape, somewhat near, raised his eyebrows. No one could tell if he was amused or wary. Voldemort turned. "What's this?" he questioned, walking towards Lucius Malfoy who stood coolly near the door, "Envy as well, Lucius?" Malfoy's lip straightened. Silence. The Dark Lord clucked his thin tongue, "Should we assume that I was being rhetorical then,?" Lucius did not look at him, "Aha..." he breathed in, "Yes, yess...that is envy then! Perhaps…"

"Yes..." there was a pause. Malfoy squared her shoulders and said to everyone, "But, why not, Master?" Voldemort turned his head as if in a warning, "Why shouldn't any of us cloak our jealousy for these...noble three?" He made a grand motion to the new arrivals, "Envy, perhaps, but beneath it, I can assure you is admiration and reverence. My Lord, we all strive to be in your favor...if I may say, I think each person in this room desires to be at your right hand, Lord." He bowed, "Therefore, envy might result. It isn't-it isn't negative." Lucius spoke quickly. Voldemort did not look impressed, "No! Not negative in the least. Our jealousy, Master, is merely spawn of our ambition. Ambition that men like us are well known for…" he paused when the Dark Lord's face did not change, "Ambtion that, as you know, was favored, as you very well know, My Lord, by the great Salazar Slytherin."

"Honor and respect." Murmured nearly all of the people in the room in unison, a rehearsed response to the name. Lucius nodded. He looked up at his Master's unreadable face.

"Well spoken." Voldemort said surprisingly. Malfoy's shoulders dropped a little with relief when the Dark Lord turned again. "You should learn from Lucius' example also. But, let me not catch one of you..." terrible, hoarse coughing echoed off the walls. Bellatrix had made to stand, but collapsed. She had broken into another of her unwell fits. A flash of something strange flickered on Voldemort's white face. Bellatrix hugged her knees to her chest as she continued to cough viciously. Voldemort looked down at her, eyes somehow blank and somehow concerned,

"She's ill, Master." Croaked Rodolphus as he tried to go to his writhing wife. Another fugitive mumbled something about others being sick, but he was ignored or frowned upon. Uniformed men attempted to aid the witch. Words slipped from The Dark Lord's forked tongue,

"Keep away!" he commanded, waving them from the woman. He did not kneel or even look at the confused Rodolphus. Bellatrix continued to cough, reaching out from her master's robes. Suddenly, Voldemort's lip curled and he stepped away from her, "Ugh," he snorted, "She's dirty… my...um…" There was a pause and a change of plan. Bellatrix withdrew, "She needs to be looked after..."

"I'm sorry," sputtered Bella, "Master…"

"All of them do." Finished the Dark Lord while Bellatrix finished her fit, "Wormtail, get her a drink immediately.

"Of-of what?" Wormtail asked, not wanting to make another mistake,

"The wine of course." The Dark Lord hovered over the lady while Wormtail brought her a glass. "Help her." Wormtail, crouching and feeling awkward under the stares streaming from dark eyes and behind masks, brought the cup cautiously to the witch's mutilated lips. He hated touching her, smelling the stink of rotting beauty. He hated the red eyes watching him handle a prized, porcelain doll. Bellatrix leaned against the steps and felt the foreign touch of the porcelain. Tilting her head back, she allowed Wormtail to pour a bit of the dark liquid into her mouth. She choked with a infantile gurgle and Wormtail saw Rodolphus shift on his knees a little ways away. Soon, though, she swallowed and calmed. Pursing her lips, scarlet dripped into the dry cracks. Suddenly, her eyes opened up a bit more and she made a primal noise, grabbing the cup from the little man. Drowning her self in the drink, she drained the glass. The taste was so prominent it made her head hurt. The tang was stronger than she could have dreamed. Her parched tongue praised her for her mercy.

"More!" she rasped, shoving the cup at Wormtail who gasped a little. The sides of Voldemort's thin lips curled, pleased with himself and how he cared for his prize, "I said, want more!" The mousy man looked to his Master, who nodded. Wormtail rushed to refill her glass,

"In fact," Voldemort commanded, "All of you, take up your glasses. Let us celebrate." Anyone who had a glass raised it, ."To the return of my most faithful servants." They drank and the fugitives eyed the wine jealously, desperately,

"To the Dark Lord. Our gracious Master." They drank again. Voldemort, ever observant, noticed a fugitive, who was missing an eye, begin to shift towards the generous amount of food left on the table to the left of the staircase. After acknowledging the toast he had received, the Dark Lord said,

"I will speak to you all later, please eat. Have anything you want. You will dwell in my house until you are fully restored." They were quick to thank their Master for providing them with accommodations but were slow in getting to the table. As sluggish as they were, the men wasted no time in starting off towards the glistening meats and fruits. When they moved from the entryway, there was a murmuring as one man, unmoving, remained behind, face first on the tile. Voldemort squinted at him but didn't bother to go near. With a flick of his tongue, he pronounced, "Dead. Dispose of him in the lake, would you? Who is he?" No one stepped forward to do the chore or answer the questions, "No? Just take him away. Go out the French doors through the ball room. Shut those doors. The rest of you, stop staring like animals." The fugitives were nearing the table, "The rest of you may speak." He thought and then added, referring to the fugitives, "Don't crowd them. Let them come to you if they wish to see you." Voldemort turned and watched the men eat and the room came alive again as two men in masks went to work levitating the body of the ill-fated fugitive. McNair closed the huge doors with ease and everyone spoke of the fugitives escape.

Bellatrix seemed content, but forgotten by the Dark Lord. She stood wearily, wanting food, running her tongue over her upper-lip. She tried using the railing of the staircase for support and attempted to wobble to the table. She fell, as many expected, and shook with a few more coughs. Wormtail, who had been helping her drink another glass of wine stepped back awkwardly, hoping the Dark Lord had not noticed his irresponsibility. He was grateful but a little ashamed that he was stepping down from his duties when Lucius Malfoy came to lend Bellatrix a helping hand,

"Bellatrix." He drawled, tapping his regal cane near her feet. She looked up, a bit of wine dribbling down her chin and to her neck. Staring at him blankly for a few minutes, the witch tried to recall the curves of that strong, arrogant face and the purr of his teasing voice. "You certainly remember me." She looked down, almost uninterested, wiping up the spilled wine with her fingers and then sucking greedily on them like a child. "Um…Lucius Malfoy. You remember me." He tried,

"Lucius." Bellatrix tested the name, finally, blinking at him. He nodded and she gave another concerning, disturbed smile,

"A friend." Lucius said looking at her bloody toes with a frown

"Mhm…" . There was another pause as she confirmed his existence and their relationship or perhaps she was simply using the time to lick the last bit of wine from her fingers. Suddenly though, her eyes glinted with recollection and she brought her hand down from her face to look up at him, "Lucius."

"Yes." He validated,

"I remember you." Her smile grew and he felt a chill as the rancid skeleton reminded him, "A lover." She chose her words carefully, seeming to recall definitions as she spoke them, "Paramour." He felt like he was hearing history from a corpse,

"Your sister's husband." He explained, almost condescendingly, to cover his unease, "Narcissa's husband."

"My least favorite in-law." There was a silence and then Bellatrix gave a hoarse chuckle.

"You have not lost that humor of yours." He managed, realizing she had lost everything else. He felt strange, she was hideous, but she was still the same, wasn't she? He was sure he heard the ghost of the laugh he once prized through her rasping. Yet it was horrible for him to think of how well he knew those shriveled, decaying hands or those butchered examples of gore she wore for lips. "Narcissa will be so happy to hear of your retu…"

"Narcissa! My sister! Where is she? Where is my sister?"

"Not here."

"Just you."

"Just me."

"Just Lucius Malfoy." She repeated and sat straighter, clucking her tongue and then jerking her head, "When can I see my sister?"

"I don't know. Soon, I'd hope." He tried,

"Try to let me see her soon. You'll do that." She gave her smile again, "I want to see her."

"She'll want to see you…" he thought, "Our son is old now. He's almost sixteen, taller than his mother…"

"Who is his mother? Our son? My…"

"Narcissa and I are his parents..."

"Draco!" Bellatrix said in triumph, recalling the name on her own. "I want to see him, too. Baby Draco. Darling thing…" Lucius secretly did not want to subject his family to this troubling sight on the stairs before him for a little while. He would tell them that she was too sick to be seen. But somewhere inside him, Lucius felt a compassion for his decrepit friend and partner. Yet that flicker of old emotions was shoved away swiftly by the fear and near nausea of her state,

"I want food, now." She said, returning to her previous motivation and pulling herself up, using the railing,

"I could imagine." Said Lucius, watching how her feeble muscles strained,

"Yes. Help me." She didn't wait for a reply, but immediately flopped forwards, using him for support. "And hug me." She demanded of her old beau.

Without warning, he felt her arms wrap around his middle. Something in him tightened into an unfriendly knot, and he felt his stomach twisted with discomfort. She hummed strangely into is chest, experiencing an embrace by arms other than her own. It was then that Lucius realized how emaciated she had become. He could feel each of her ribs against him. It was haunting, how familiar her hold on him was and it was utterly sickening, the foreign, pungent stench of her matted, ankle length hair. He looked down to see something pearly wriggling in one of her horrible curls; a larva of some sort. He stepped back and she stumbled. Bellatrix wrinkled her nose and then took his shoulder to begin towards the table. Lucius sacrificed his arm for the disgusting witch.

No one spoke near the table for a little while. There was a slurping and a smacking of lips as some of the stronger men stuffed the food down their throats greedily. Surprisingly, however, at least half of the men simply picked up small pieces of bread, picking at the softest part with gritty fingers and then chewing slowly. Others, who were more adventurous found the glossy fruits or succulent meat to be far to strong. Rodolphus was chewing tenderly, uncomfortably on a crisp roll, occasionally looking up from the table like a deer from a stream, glancing at Bellatrix. When she approached, with her crutch, Lucius, he made room for her next to him. As soon as she spotted the feast, no longer blocked by skinny shoulders, she leaned forward, abandoning Malfoy and caught herself on the edge of the table. Lucius felt new uncertainty upon him. He wanted to talk to Rodolphus, his old friend, but wasn't sure he wanted to endure looking at him up close. He stepped back from the grimy group and watched them eat like animals.

Bellatrix, upon reaching her destination widened her glittering eyes to take in all of the things set before her. Strangely, though, she wasn't sure what to do. Her body had become all too accustomed to hunger. Giving a little cough, not bothering to cover her mouth, she spied a bowl of shining chocolates and she reached for them. With two of the smooth things in her fingers, she brought them to her nose, smelling them curiously, enjoying it. It was a foreign scent but a nice one. Lucius, by now, had left his place to speak to Severus again. Bella swiftly popped the candies into her mouth, like pills. She let them melt on her torn up tongue but she exhaled through her nose when she couldn't really taste it. So she bite down and ground the chocolate slowly. Suddenly, there was a terrible stinging pain in her rotting teeth that had her head reeling. She was swift to open her mouth and allow the crushed sweets to fall to the floor as she sputtered. Rodolphus gave a concerned grunt, crumbs collecting in his long beard. Bellatrix smacked dry lips in distaste.

"Too…too…I don't know." she commented. Rabastan was making desperate gulping noises as he ate strawberries and biscuits and everything rich and tart. He seemed to be obtaining a sensory high, his eyes crossing when he took a pit-less cherry meant for a drink.

"Slow down." Suggested a younger man, eating a piece of turkey. He didn't heed the advice and continued. Bella had, by now, spotted the beef and scooped some up in her grubby claw, gravy wet on her palm. She chewed with sore teeth so it was difficult for her. She was sloppy, the meat dangling out of her mouth, some juice dripping from between her fingers.

Severus, still sitting, watched the fugitives with a strange curiosity as if he were amused at their new childishness. He nodded at Lucius to come over to him. Malfoy raised his eyebrows in response during a sip of something golden, stronger than wine. The two men met near the sealed window, strange contrasts of the other.

"What did she say?" asked Severus,

"She just recalled me."

"Has she gone mad? Completely?"

"Utterly." Lucius frowned a little, looking away with a clearing of his throat, "Between you and me, Severus, I'm glad that the Dark Lord…" he seemed hesitant to share, "I am very glad that the Dark Lord did not assume that I would be taking her, Rodolphus, and Rabastan to my home simply because of Narcissa."

"Why?" asked Snape casually,

"Um…" Lucius paused, taking another drink and glancing over his shoulder,

"What? Narcissa wouldn't want the monster that swallowed her sister wandering the halls like a possessed infant?" He gave a meager, yet cruel smirk at his black humor. Lucius looked back at Severus,

"No, she would not and I would not want to have to see her again either until she is cleaned up and in good heath. She's disgusting."

"Perhaps the Dark Lord will have Wormtail restore them. He cared very well for the Dark Lord. Surely he can hold a bottle for walking corpses."

"Wormtail will need a strong stomach to even be in the same room as the likes of…" he stopped, mouth open in mid sentence and changed his tone completely, drawling on decorously, "But, really, the task of it, surviving that long." Snape saw through his farce and tried to reign in another flicker of a smirk, "Returning," continued Lucius, "Incredibly. Very like them, very persistent…"

"Yes." Said Severus absently, looking over that the very pensive Lord Voldemort who had revisited the staircase to watch over the banister at his beloved servants that sported skeletal fingers and scared eyes.


	3. Reunion

CHAPTER THREE:

A creature looked back at her. She lifted her thin hand. It lifted a thin hand. She turned her head slightly and it did the same. The mirror refused to lie to her, however desperately Bellatrix wanted it to. She had not looked at herself for fifteen years and for all that time she had expected this moment to be glorious. Meeting herself again was, she thought, supposed to be another triumph. Instead, Bellatrix was hesitant, horrified, to run a disbelieving hand over her mutilated face. She set her jaw and simply stared at the devastated stranger in front of her. The woman was terrifying, rotting, but she could not manage to look away. Her eyes were vacant, lost deep in the violet rings around them. Her lips were hardly lips at all, being decorated with delicate fissures and having been drained of any color they might have once held. Her skin gleamed with a decade of oil and in the dimness it looked as if it had been washed with spoiled milk. Was it just the shadows that the light from the hallway had painted on her cheeks? Had she always looked this way? Had Azkaban driven her to imagine herself as beautiful before admittance?

The tears stung. She hoped that they would blind her and spare her another glance at the witch in the mirror. In the blur, though, the face distorted further. Her tortured vocal chords allowed her only soft, ashamed and hateful wheezes. She wanted to wipe the tears away but Bella was afraid to touch her face again. The only way she could have attempted to guess how long she stood in front of herself was by the aching in her weary legs.

Wormtail found her slumped miserably at the mirror, on her knees, holding tight to the edge of the short, stout dresser that she rested her head upon; the even and chaste layer of dust that had collected there over the years had been ruined by her claw marks and the drops from her eyes, nose, and mouth. He was surprised to find her awake.

The man hesitated at the door for a few more moments. Was she hurt? She was breathing… Wormtail swallowed hard and then, shifting the fabric he held in his arms, he drew his short, splintery wand. With a flick of it, the oil lamp in the corner began to burn a lazy yellow. Bellatrix tensed and mumbling something as her grimy talons gripped the wood tighter as meager light consumed the room.

"I just thought you might want a light…" He tried, moving inside and setting down the hastily folded pile of clothing on one of the four twin-sized cots. The beds were lined up evenly in a row, with their weathered, wooden headboards resting against the wall. In the new light, the intricacies of the room were visible. Little ducklings were painted among pastel stripes than ran in thick, evenly spaced lashes down the peeling wallpaper. The chamber was revealed to be a long forgotten nursery, cleared of most of the toys it must have once held. There was an vacant, decorative bird cage in the corner, the oil lamp on a night stand, a closed trunk made for a toddler, an aging clock on the wall whose arms remained stiffly at five forty, a few dolls slumped under the window, and. of course, the low-lying dresser and mirror. The cots sported quilts that had their vibrant colors masked by powdery film. Bellatrix finally became audible,

"Leave." She rasped spitefully to Wormtail, never lifting her head to look at him.

"I will," he said cautiously, watching her as if she might combust, stepping towards the door. "I just left some nightrobes for you and Rodolphus and…"

"Get out of here." Her voice was quiet, strained, and she finally looked up, but only for a moment, for a glance at her visitor through pink, wet eyes. She saw his hunched frame waver in the doorway, unsure of whether he should stay or go. Wormtail's chest tightened when he surveyed her ravaged face. She looked far worse than she had earlier. He didn't think that that could have been possible. "You're staring." And she turned, spattering spit on the duckling wallpaper. "Stop staring!"

"I wasn't…" Wormtail attempted to assure her, his voice fluttering. He was well aware of how much his Master favored her and that is the only thing that kept him from gagging aloud while eyeing over her sullied, threadbare curls that were caked with an unfriendly, grey substance and coated with a shining film of oil. "I was-wasn't staring. I'm sorry," he tried to continue as she heaved a breath, her eyes burning and her hands shaking with embarrassment and rage. "There is a washroom across the way…" Wormtail lingered in the doorway, trying to relay all of the information to her that the Dark Lord had ordered him to.

"Go away!" And she rounded again, baring grey teeth, lusterless hair flopping, "Get away!" Bella was soon shielding her face from him again, cursing to herself from beneath the curtain of curls that hung like limp entrails gutted from some unfortunate hog.

"Uh." The fidgeting wizard uttered, then taking a great, nervous sniff. "Sorry. Sorry…" Wormtail gave up and scurried off, wringing his hands together, trying to spin tales and explanations he'd serve the Dark Lord. Bellatrix remained in the nursery, quivering on the carpet with her canopy of hair pooling around her. She could sense the mirror looking down at her from its place on the dresser and cowered low, moaning with abhorrence for herself.

It wasn't long before she heard footsteps again and new voices. Bellatrix tried to drag herself beyond one of the cots. She wouldn't allow herself to be seen again in her state. Rodolphus and his brother limped in, growling to each other civilly.

"A nursery?" noted Rabastan, blinking his round eyes and adjusting to the jaundiced light in the room.

"Beds." Rodolphus stated, marveling at the mere concept of them. He paused before asking, "Bellatrix?" He had noticed her miserable form between the cots.

"Look." said Rabastan with a watery cough, "they left night robes. I wonder-I wonder…" he didn't finish, seeming to have lost his train of thought. His round eyes had begun to roam over the ducklings plastered on the wallpaper.

"Bellatrix?" her husband asked again when she stood. "Why the-why were you on the floor?"

"Goodnight." She said, taking advantage of her mane and hanging her head so that it covered her dripping face. Bellatrix sat quickly on the bed nearest the door, in the corner. The under-practiced springs yawned loathsome squeaks when even Bella's slight weight challenged them. And when she sat, the nightrobes at the edge of the bed placed there fell to the floor. Rabastan shuffled to pick one up, using his brother for support as he bent.

"Thank you, Richard." He grunted, something in his knee producing an unfortunate snapping sound,

"Rodolphus." Corected the older man,

"Rodolphus." Rabastan repeated his brother's name, starting off towards the ornate, bay window that was veiled by another quilt and a towel so that no light could be seen from the outside of the house.

"Is it s-s-oft?" Asked Rodolphus of his wife, his lips fumbling to form the foreign word. He stood, hunched at her bedside, his long matted hair tucked behind his ears and lolling down his back. His dark eyes flitted from his wife's form, to the floor, to his grubby hands that seemed too small for his skin, and then back to Bellatrix again.

"Yes." She croaked, at dilapidated edge of her sleeve shamefully, trying to avoid his attention. She was glad it had not been the Dark Lord to come in. Her ashen cheeks burned just thinking that he had seen her like this. To think that she had let him set his eyes on her. Still, she managed to be proud, somewhere, that if she was horrible looking, it was a mere tribute to the fact that she was so devoted to her master that she had wasted all her youth away for him. Another part of her entirely did want the Dark Lord to have entered the nursery.

Bellatrix lied down, Rodolphus remained standing slouched, and Rabastan had begun to change clothes, not minding about the others. In the lamplight his naked form was striped with the lashes of shadows that his protruding bones cast. Most of his shrunken form was concealed by his lengthy hair, but what could be seen was unsettling. The state of his skin was abominable, blotchy, and waxy. The robes he stepped out of fell to the floor, looking like the pelt of a diseased animal. Rabastan remained, the skeleton and muscles, shivering without skin.

Rodolphus watched Bellatrix turn to face the wall, grappling with the quilt and then going still. He only faintly remembered how that simple action appeared: his wife nestling into the sheets of a bed. He had imagined her every night, sleeping in one of the dismal cells around the corner from his. The only thing that made him want to wake up in the mornings was the delusion that, perhaps, she would have appeared beside him over night. Over the years, though, the dementors had slowly gorged themselves on those dreams, too. He studied her, trying to recall something, anything.

Shouldn't he lie beside her, his wife? He wanted to. He had wanted her near for fifteen years and now he felt as if he hardly knew Bellatrix Lestrange. Still, he wanted to remember. Rodolphus anticipated that she would feel the same. His tired legs made decisions for him, seeming to give the ultimatum that he should either lie down or sit down, or they would simply collapse and take care of things for him. Rodolphus leaned wearily and, using the bedpost for support, sidled gracelessly onto the sliver of space at the edge of Bella's dusty cot. She made a noise.

"Yes, it's me." He croaked softly, assuming she was responding kindly to his presence. Unfortunately, he had been quite wrong,

"'No', I said." Bellatrix didn't bother turning to look at her husband, but simply began to wriggle, trying to dislodge her arm from the quilt, "Off." Rodolphus, with his dark eyes even more confused, drew his hands up to his chest defensively. He knew she meant to hit him, but couldn't bring himself to restrain her.

"Bellatrix." He said, his voice swimming with a dozen emotions. The man's brow furrowed unhappily when Bellatrix managed to whack him sharply in the arm with one of her elbows, made sharp over the years. The pain was jarring to his brittle bones, even though he had anticipated it.

"You have your own. Are you blind?" She berated, pressing her back against his weight on the bed, trying to shove him off, while she hissed, "There isn't enough room. Get off."

"Stop." He growled when she scratched at him with a claw. Finally he stood, a hideous frown dragging the sides of his dry mouth downwards. While he glowered at his wife, she swiftly turned and faced the little ducklings on the wall again. "You…" he couldn't think of much to say, but his frustration at disappointment was building quickly. "I just want to…"

"No." She cut him off heatedly, her voice cracking with the effort that came with volume.

"Damn it!" He barked, giving the edge of the bed a rash, swift kick. Anger was the safest thing to feel. The man gasped, energy leaving and a throbbing in his foot beginning. He sat of the cot next to his wife's holding his leg and rumbled softly.

"What?" came Rabastan's hissing voice. Rodolphus turned to look at his brother giving a grunt in response. "What's wrong?" Rabastan was bug-eyed and curious, sloppily buttoning the front of the pristine night robes with his grubby fingers.

"She's just being a…" he stopped, wanting to call his cherished wife all the spiteful names he could remember. Rodolphus couldn't, not after the thought of her kept him slightly sane through his stay in prison. But now, after holding onto her so long… "Bitch." He managed.

"Huh?" asked Rabastan, the nightrobes seeming all the more enormous on him when he moved to the other bed, "Who is she?"

"My wife." Rodolphus said pointedly, looking up at his brother from below a furrowed brow, "Bellatrix."

"Oh." Rabastan connected the threads, "She's my…sister-in-law, then." His older brother didn't care to respond. Rodolphus was far too busy shredding fantasies of a fulfilling reunion.

She was his, wasn't she? He had no ring, they had taken that from him, and her finger was bare as well. Yet, they were married, he was sure of it, even though he couldn't remember the date, where the ceremony was held, or how wonderful she had looked in that ironically chaste, white dress. But they were married and she was his responsibility and his property by pureblood law. Rodolphus made to stand. He wasn't sure what he intended to do, but, regardless, his bewildered muscles stopped him.

"Yes, a bed." Rabastan gargled drowsily. Rodolphus heard the creaking of springs as the man he supposed was his younger brother lied down. Rodolphus did the same after a few more minutes of staring at Bellatrix's back rising and falling with shaking breaths from across the canyon between their beds. The gentleness of the pillow was another sensation he had to relearn. None of the Lestranges bothered to turn out the lights, it would have required getting up as seeing that their wands in ministry possession, broken and had likely been burned.

Staring at the wavering light, shining across the ceiling Rodolphus tried to think of their wedding. Was he married? He was almost certain…He conjured up images he attempted to believe. A small wedding? No, large. What about the reception? What did his mother look like? She was dead, wasn't she? Where were he and Bellatrix on their wedding night? How did she look like nestled in those sheets again?

Bellatrix kneaded the sheets with her grubby talons. To anyone else they would have seemed stiff and unbearably scratchy, but after Azkaban they felt like silk. Bella's hair was so long, that it could have served for a covering enough, it dripped off the bed and hung, dead, near the floor. The flat and dusty pillow was welcome on her shoulder blades. Giving a small, content noise, the emaciated woman curled snuggly in the quilt, smearing grime over them, but not really minding. Fifteen years on a stone floor slipped from her with every grating breath she enjoyed. Bellatrix was now aware of how her body ached. Her legs were dreadfully tense from all the running and swimming. Her eyelids protested against staying awake to enjoy the relaxation consciously. Still, Bellatrix willingly let herself fall asleep, managing to ignore the dread she felt about waking to see her reflection in the morning.


	4. Great Minds

The gears of the lift squealed out of early morning drowsiness. Neither Lucius Malfoy nor the two escorts who flanked him spoke as they ascended. It was a short ride, but the corners of Lucius' disapproving lips twitched in agitation at the creaking and clanking of the under-oiled chains. He looked down at his watch, swiftly, to check the time. Four o'clock in the morning. He was still tired from his late meetings.

The Ministry aurors beside him, one a witch with bright eyes and the other a more stocky wizard, were clad in the official-looking indigo robes of their trade. The disciplined pair still held their wands tightly at their sides. They had been rather quiet since they had all left Lucius' home. His wife had nearly fainted when she had seen them in the parlor. Narcissa would probably still be fretting; although he had assured her that they were not going to arrest him.

With a clank and hiss, the elevator finished its climb. A small chime sounded and the golden doors opened for the passengers. Lucius and the aurors stepped from the carpet of the lift to the wood of the third floor. A long corridor spanned before them lined with uniformed oil lamps that were spaced evenly between lavish portraits of well dressed witches and wizards, who were soundly asleep in their frames. At the end of the hall were two other aurors, both men, who stood, straight backed and straight faced on either side of a two large, dark wooded doors. When Lucius and his company had reached them, all the aurors glanced at the each other's badges. With a nod, the two men tapped their wands to the doorknobs and allowed the three visitors entrance to the Minister's wing.

Beyond the doors was a spacious, circular room, kept pristine and organized as ever. Five doors were embedded in the walls and in the center of the chamber, behind a polished desk, a thin wizard with neatly cut hair, was seated comfortably. He looked up, through weary eyes, from a stack of papers he had been swiftly stamping. The nameplate at the edge of the desk read '_Sec. Daniel Swithett'_

"Mister Malfoy." Swithett said, setting down his quill,

"Good morning." Lucius replied cordially, glancing down at the parchment on the secretary's desk. The majority of the documents were from the Wizengamot.

"The Minister is waiting." Swithett then held out his hand, "Your wand, sir?"

"Of course." Lucius smiled as he reached into the folds of his long, winter cloak,

"A customary precaution…"

"A necessary one." Lucius added. The secretary flashed a swift, simple smile as he took the governor's elegant wand and set it in a low-lying drawer of his desk.

"Thank you, sir. Go right in."

"Thank you." Lucius ran a hand through his hair and, still trailed by the man and woman, went to the largest door. Before entering, they were faced with a gleaming plaque displaying the Minister's name.

Within sat Cornelius Fudge, slumped behind his ornate desk, his hair white and meager on his head. He was a small wizard, seeming even more diminutive in his wide, commodious office. Meticulously dusted bookshelves that stretched all the way up to the ceiling, mounted documents baring swooping signatures, and tranquil paintings of hilly landscapes lined the pristine, white walls. There were elegant, deep colored rugs on the floor on which rested a sofa, two chairs, a coffee table, and the Minister's horseshoe desk like coasters. Beyond all of it, along the back wall, was a set of elegant drapes, deep green and well cleaned. The stout Minister stood when he saw his guests.

"Lucius." He said, gazing intently, from beyond petite, silver-rimmed spectacles, at the stately, pureblood governor, "I'm so relieved you've arrived safely. Thank you for coming so early." His voice, usually an official sounding warble, was strained, "You have no idea…"

"It is no trouble."

"Always so understanding." Fudge adjusted his tie, "Sit, please." He urged Lucius to rest in an armchair to the side of the unusually chaotic, horseshoe-shaped desk. "You two, ah…" he read the Aurors names off of their badges, "Miss Willet and Mister DeVaans. You are dismissed. Thank you. Please wait outside. You will escort Mister Malfoy back to his home."

"Yes, sir." Said Willet. DeVaans nodded. The Aurors shut the door behind them, leaving the two politicians alone in the spacious office. As Lucius removed his cloak, politely setting it on the arm of the chair, he came to understand the faith Cornelius Fudge had in his allegiance. He sat and watched for a moment as Fudge fumbled with a few papers. The Minister began, after licking the tip of his index finger to separate two pages of a Wizengamot report.

"Now," he began, "You must recall the incident, two years ago, with Sirius Black."

"Of course." Said Lucius, having anticipated the topic of this conversation,

"There has been another security breach at Azkaban Prison." Fudge paused for a moment, glancing away, shifting a few more papers on his desk with a sniff. The governor's eyes widened,

"Oh." Lucius feigned shock, allowing a good dose of terror to seep into his tone, "How many? Who?"

"I've spoken, just last evening to Mister Charron about it." His voice was quiet and rushed, as if it were being pressed from him, "He says that there was a ward of high security prisoners, perhaps a dozen of them, who escaped two nights ago." Lucius noticed the nervous shine of sweat on Cornelius' brow, "He didn't know until around six o'clock, this past evening, because, you know, the dementors do their job well. He didn't check that ward…he should have check that ward, but…" his eyes squinted and with a curling of his lip, Fudge sneezed, "Pardon me," Cornelius said as he reached into the pocket of his vest, with well fed, quivering fingers, "I have a bit of a cold…But, yes. None of this has been released to the public."

"This is horrible." Lucius affirmed, sitting back, trying his best to look bewildered.

"Yes. With rumors about You-Know-Who flying about, thanks to Dumbledore and the Potter boy, I'm worried that this could excite those loony resurrected radical groups who seem so convinced of all that silliness." Lucius scoffed absently, half listening to Fudge's blubbering. His mind spun, trying to use this conversation the best of his advantage. "Those people are just as delirious as the Death Eaters to think You-Know-Who has returned. I…"

"Do you know where they have gone?"

"The fugitives? " Cornelius gave a pained sigh, "No idea. They swam across the channel, I suppose. Well, perhaps. But it's been a few days. Their tracks are gone…" He wrung his embroidered handkerchief in his red hands. "There's nothing to do except wait until they show up somewhere…and, well, Lucius, I don't know if I want them to."

"Oh dear." Lucius took his time, inquiring softly and solicitously, "Sir, forgive me forgetting personal, but,"

"What?" asked Fudge, pursing his chapped lips,

"Should I take Draco out of school for the month? The dementors at Hogwarts two years ago…"

"No." said Fudge, "No, there will be no dementors at Hogwarts." Malfoy raised his eyebrows,

"Really?"

"I assure you." Replied Fudge, looking down at his papers, "That won't happen again."

"This is dreadful." Lucius noted, then asking pointedly, "How can I help you, sir?" Cornelius noticed himself fidgeting with the handkerchief and folded it to stow it away again as he spoke carefully,

"Well, Lucius," he paused, looking the blonde governor in the eyes, "I know you were Imperiorized…" Lucius felt his legs tense as his chest tightened. He had not spoken of this with anyone at the Ministry since he was found not guilty so many years ago.

"But I know you were fairly informed about the Death Eaters' inner circle."

"I was." He managed,

"And I have no spies in any of the groups supporting You-Know-Who currently, because, well, frankly, there are very few associations like that and they don't even matter, of course. But when there were Death Eaters…"

"I know nothing of the breakout, sir..." assured Lucius, "As seeing that there are no current Death Eater organizations, were there any I'd certainly be being hunted…"

"I didn't think you would, but, well, I hoped you might know something about Bellatrix Lestrange." Fudge said her name as if it were laced with unbearable seasoning. He was eager to spit the title from his mouth.

"Not since she was captured." Lucius replied, suddenly stopping, allowing a new fear to climb across his expression, "Oh, Merlin…Has she…" he omitted the word, 'escaped'. Fudge nodded,

"She, her husband, brother-in-law…" he trailed off, miserably running a hand over his face.

"She'll kill me. She'll kill us." Lucius gasped with rehearsed horror, "My wife is at home…"

"Please, Lucius." Said Fudge apologetically,

"But she'll certainly be out to harm us, sir…"

"No, no. I will see to it that she does not harm your family. I'm sorry to have upset you." Lucius exhaled loudly, drawing a hand to his mouth, quieting himself,

"Thank you. It's all right, it's just a shock." It was a few moments before he met the Minister's foggy eyes again,

"I could imagine." He paused, "I do apologize and I do assure you that Aurors are, right now, keeping watch over your home."

"I shouldn't have suspected anything different from this administration." The governor considered if he had recovered too quickly from the surprise. The Minister didn't seem to be any less ignorant to Malfoy's loyalties. Lucius gave the Minister a grateful nod. There was a silence. The governor noted the tick ticking of the clock on the minister's desk.

"I just need to know if…" Fudge fumbled, "if you know of any of her hide outs or friends or anything like that."

"What?" Malfoy's toes curled inside his boots, an unanticipated nervousness beginning to scratch at him talking about all of this in the Minister's presesnce,

"Lestrange." Fudge managed,

"If there was any place she'd be headed, it would be…" Lucius paused, gathering himself and continuing the performance, "Well, I don't really know…"

"Can you remember at all?"

"France, perhaps?" A quill on Fudge's desk was galvanized with a glance from the Minister. It began furiously scribbling notes on a blank piece of parchment, "Avignon."

"Who would help her?"

"Well, Igor Karkaroff." Malfoy said swiftly, "Perhaps her husband's friends in Paris…" he paused with a quiet breath,

"What is it?" Cornelius questioned, leaning forward; the governor's face had changed. Lucius, sitting straighter than before, hands clenched together in his lap, told the Minster with a slight bow of his head,

"She's gone to Sirius Black."

"Of course!" Fudge seemed as eager to accuse Black as Lucius was. Each man privately celebrated this revelation of a diversion.

"Yes! How could I have forgotten?" Malfoy said enthusiastically, his grey eyes bright. Fudge plucked the quill from its work and began to write a note on a smaller pad of paper. "She'd go straight to find Sirius Black. They will certainly think that The Dark… " Lucius' mouth froze just as his lips and tongue had began to form an 'L', and then he continued, grateful that the Minister was too absorbed in this new idea to be paying attention to his title for Voldemort, "You-Know-Who,", Lucius corrected himself smoothly, "has returned." Now, more than ever, though it simply had a simply consistent prickle, Lucius was aware of the all too visible Dark Mark beneath the sleeve of his robe.

"Yes, yes…" Fudge muttered quickly, taking out his slim, runty wand and tapping the note he had just written. It folded itself with a soft crinkle and then with a spell from its author, the message sped off, slipped under the door, and was gone. "I just notified the editor of the Daily Prophet."

"Wonderful."

"I told them, of course, about Black…he and Lestrange are cousins, yes? Yes."

"Certainly. I, unfortunately, had to spend my years at Hogwarts with them." Lucius kept his voice soft,

"How dreadful…" Cornelius then added, "Oh! Oh, and the article…I'll have it published tomorrow. Don't be surprised if it says the breakout occurred just this past evening."

"Oh?" Malfoy questioned, still gorging himself on self-satisfaction,

"Yes. I don't like the public to know that they were uniformed for a few days about issues like this. They like to know things are being dealt with immediately. Really, they are, but…"

"No, I understand."

"I knew you would." Said Fudge with a bit of a sigh, "Lucius, I think we are of very like minds, if I may be so bold."

"I agree, sir, if _I _may also be so bold."

"And, Luicus," Cornelius' shoulders had lowered noticeably since he had waved his message away, "I'm so glad I still have honorable men to put my trust in."

"I'm honored to have your trust., Mister Fudge." Lucius told him respectfully, "I, do mean that." Cornelius gave the governor a relieved smile. The Death Eater smiled back.


	5. Severus' Associations

The lapels of his black cloak flapped into his face, but the man continued quietly through the late November wind. He hoped it wouldn't begin to snow. His long stride was thrown off a bit, considering he clutched the handle of a small, but heavy crate in one hand. Within were glass bottles filled with a gleaming juice unlike anything that anyone in the down dropping away from him at the bottom of the hill could purchase in the department store. Each vial was meticulously and securely plugged with a cork. He gave a glance to the graveyard a ways away.

A movement in the forgotten flower garden caught his attention. His right hand tensed, preparing to plunge his hand into his pocket and draw his wand. Seeing scales among the crisp corpses of magnolias, he relaxed a little and allowed his Master's pet to pass.

The dark wooded doorway yawned in front of him. He set down the crate with a clink and drew up the sleeve of his robes. Turning his arm, he carefully pressed the soft side of his left forearm to one of the rusting doorknobs. It was as if he had touched a red-hot stove. He appeared used to it and simply sucked in a breath at the sensation. The doorknob clicked softly and allowed him inside.

The parlor seemed larger than it did two nights ago, now that it was practically abandoned. The only people in the room were hardly people at all. Two men were asleep on armchairs, the long robes they wore masked most of their hideousness, but their emaciated hands, lying over the cushions were exposed and revealed them for what they were; fugitives. The man with the crate wasn't affected, or at least, he didn't appear to be, and closed the door shut behind him. He starting for the stairs.

"Severus." Someone called to him. Wormtail looked down at Severus and the crate he held from over the railing on the second floor. Snape looked up with a warning glance, motioning towards the slumbering fugitives. Womrtail didn't understand, "Do you have all of it, then?" Snape nodded, ascending, as one of the skeletal escapees stirred miserably. Wormtail met the man at the top of the stairs,

"You could have at least tried not to wake them. I expected you to be more considerate of them, Wormtail." The tall man said, eyebrows rising high, "Aren't you responsible for them? I would never question the Dark Lord's judgment, but…"

"Shut up." Said Wormtail, "Let me see them…" He said, his eyes roving over the crate, "The Dark Lord said it must be…"

"If you're so eager to see," Severus drawled, shifting the crate, "just take it." He gave it to Wormtail with no remorse and the small, stout wizard struggled to hold the glass carefully. Cradling the box in both arms, his silver hand glistened in the light of the few candles that sat on the rotting chandelier high above.

"Wait…" Wormtail said, toddling after Severus. "Snape, did you have much trouble?"

"No, you know the headmaster is practically deaf, dumb, and blind to my doings, Wormtail. Don't drop that. And you know how he trusts me." Wormtail simply wriggled his nose a bit in envious reply. "The Dark Lord knows I'm here." Severus stated confidently as they turned towards the East Wing of the house where the children's quarters were located. Down the corridor, slumped against the wall was another fugitive, just as sickly as the rest. "Our first?" Snape assumed, looking over his shoulder at the small, mousy wizard. He was expectant, signaling for Wormtail to take out a bottle.

"I suppose."

"You sound unenthused." When they approached the man, he blinked at them sleepily, an empty bottle of firewiskey in his hand. "And you gave him firewhiskey."

"It stopped his jabbering."

"How thoughtful." Snape stated dryly. The stench of him was powerful, even though he had been bathed and shaved. The dark robes he wore were so large for his reduced frame that one terribly pronounced shoulder was displayed in its entirity. He looked up at the two, stronger men. His weasel-like face was caked in oily film.

"This one sweats a lot. He's nervous." Noted Wormtail, setting the crate of medicine down with a little huff. Severus gazed at the decrepit man, expressionless.

"Who is he?" asked Snape, quickly realizing he was being impolite, "What is your name?" he questioned the man himself.

"They haven't told me yet." The fugitive blinked.

"Hm…" Snape sounded almost uninterested, "And your ill, I assume?"

"Why not?" Mumbled the man, in a voice that made Wortmail shiver slightly."How do you feel? Is anything bothering you?" he paused, "Physically?" Wormtail rummaged through the crate and retrieved a vial. Just before he could uncork it, Snape drawled, raising his thin brows, "Really, Wormtail, they aren't all the same. Have patience. Why would I be asking him how he…"

"Fine. Fine." Grumbled the plump man, setting down the potion and gripping his metallic hand. The wizard on the floor shifted,

"Fine." He said, rather like a deranged parrot. Severus was not satisfied,

"Something must hurt, I'm sure. I have medicine."

"You're a healer? From Mungo's?" asked the man on the floor, running an odd, sickly looking tongue over his grey lips.

"No." Severus explained, "I teach at Hogwarts. My name is Severus Snape. Did I know you before you were arrested?" Wormtail tensed, he knew that any talk of prison drove some fugitives into the most horrid of fits.

"Ah…" croaked the man, beginning to aimlessly scratch at his neck. "Severus Snape. I have no idea who you are."

"All right, then." Snape continued, now noticing the scars from the man's chin to his chest. The cuts had been sealed and picked at countless times, leaving dark, blotchy marks with a bit of rash red around them. "Where do you hurt?"

"He hasn't slept since he came here…" began Wormtail,

"I asked him."

"He doesn't even know who he is!"

"Sorry, sir, Wormtail is getting testy." Severus said, relishing Wormtail's hiss of frustration,

"It's fine." Gurgled the man on the floor, continuing to scrape at his swollen neck.

"Um, yes." Snape began, signaling to Wormtail, "Let's get you something to help you sleep, to start." Wormtail was quick to snap,

"Well, I don't know what I'm doing." He growled,

"Yes, yes, I know." Said Severus as he took out a bottle filled with something dark. "You take him to his room Wormtail and give him this."

"He won't let me touch him."

"Then levitate him, really." He handed off the bottle and took up the crate with a little effort, "That's a simple enough spell." And with a smug, condescending curl of his lips, Severus left Wormtail with the potion and the weasel-like man.

Snape knew his orders well and that is what drove him to the end of the hall and around to the right, past the washroom and the maid's quarters. He was careful, all evening, to remember the Dark Lord's most emphasized instruction. He needed to tend especially to the Lestranges. The door was pale and possessed a dull, silver handle. He could hear a severe, shuddering cough from beyond. Snape knocked, minding his manners, and received no word of protest.

"Good afternoon." He said, stepping inside. Only one pair of eyes actually acknowledged him. They were the beady eyes of the man Severus assumed to be Rabastan. Snape noted how drastically prison had changed the younger of the brothers.

"Hello." Said Rabastan,

"I brought some potions that…" the coughing erupted again from his right. Snape turned to see Bellatrix, his old friend, sagging miserably on the cot that was far too short for her. She twitched with the brutality unleashed between her ribs at each cough. It took her a few minutes to calm down, however, the moment she did, she questioned,

"Who are you supposed to be? Did the Dark Lord send you?" Her eyes and expression held a rabid ferocity, but her voice was reduced to something flimsy and meek.

"Yes, he sent me. I'm Severus." He said, teaching her as if she were one of his students, "Snape. You must remember me. From school? From the army?" And she burst out into a fit of paralyzing laughter, choking on her delight. Severus frowned as Rabastan joined in unknowingly, chuckling at invisible humor.

"Snape!" she shrieked, her voice straining,

"I brought you medicine." He said, trying his best to remain stoic.

"Snape!" Bellatrix wriggled under the sheets. Her grimacing smile inhabited her stretched face. She was excited to remember another wizard.

"Yes, Bellatrix." He said simply, placing his crate on the dresser top. Glancing in the mirror and spied the lump under the quilt on a separate cot that he assumed to be Rodolphus.

"Snape! Snape!" She continued to revel in her own joke and her husband, buried under the covers made a guttural complaint. Snape cleared his throat, intrigued by the madness that seemed to have fallen upon his fair weather friends. He began, coolly,

"Well, while…"

"Snape!" She interrupted again. Snape didn't know whether she was overjoyed that she remembered him or if she was just mocking him. He supposed the latter.  
"While she is busy…" Severus tried, looking to Rabastan, who was staring at him as if he had never seen another human being before. However, Severus' smooth voice was chewed up by an embittered growl from Rodolphus,

"Shut up! Shut up! You'll cough again." He was yelling at his distressingly delighted spouse. She ignored her husband, "I told you to shut up!" He took up the alarm clock on the nightstand beside him and tossed it at Bellatrix. Snape closed his eyes and took in a knowing breath, remembering Bella's personality. It was a weak throw, but the metal clock hit the witch just above the elbow, quickly fell to the mattress, and bounced to the carpeted floor with a thud. Bellatrix stopped laughing to wince at the stinging in her arm. Suddenly, she inhaled sharply and let loose a shriek at her husband, which escaped her mouth as more of a grating hiss. Snape saw her peeling lips moving but her words were inaudible, except for the last one that came at the end of the dissonance,

"…yourself." Suddently, though, and as predicted, Bellatrix hunched over, paralyzed with discomfort as she forced a few hard coughs from her stomach. Rodolphus looked out from under the quilt so that Snape could see only three fourths of his rotting face. He seemed to be gazing at the alarm clock instead of his wife. He was quiet. Bellatrix had quieted too and she sat forward with a grunt and blinked at Severus. He could not see all of her face due to all of the hair that veiled her. He thought that the task of imagining her broken, bleeding beauty was even more unsettling than seeing it.

"I brought medicine." He explained calmly, motioning to his crate. Snape peered through her brunette vines and watched as her lips curved in brainsick amusement. He noticed her taught skin strain as it wrinkled around the new expression that slowly smeared across her face and he noticed her dark eyes become wide in an attempt to fully recall the wizard before her and store him ito her distorted memory.

"Hello. You're taller."

"You've lost weight." He retorted, silently surprised to find that it was hard to remain settled under her moonstruck stare.

"Thank you." She said, leaving Severus unsure of whether she was being sarcastic or not.

"Why are you here?" came Rabastan's low, nervous voice,

"I told you, I brought potions."

"Potions?"

"Yes." Snape explained. Rabastan blinked, "To help you recover from your experience." He chose his words carefully, not wanting to bring up prison and risk getting an alarm clock lobbed at his head. Rodolphus was looking at him now.

"What will they do?" inquired Bellatrix, hoping she would not always have to hide behind her matted mane.

"They will get rid of that cough." He said, the weight of their stares was finally beginning to compress his insides a little tighter. Now the stillness surrounding him became apparent. Snape became fully aware of the smell of decay in the nursery and the way that their faces were so tight and resembled the dolls near the walls. He had trained his face to remain unreadable and continued his stoic practices even while observing these figures from his past that seemed to have become nightmares of their former selves. "What else hurts you? Do you have trouble eating."

"I can't see out of this eye." Rabastan blurted, slowly raising his hand to his right cheek so as not to prod himself accidentally. Snape cocked his head,

"Well, that's something." He commented, going near to the wizard, eeling the cold from the window begin to breathe on him. "When did that begin?"

"In the winter."

"It is winter."

"Not this winter…I don't think." Rabastan stopped to clear his throat, "I don't know." Snape looked into the man's unseeing eye and drew his wand.

"Do you know when we can have our wands back?" asked Bellatrix,

"Capture Ollivander and you'll have them made again." Severus joked,

"Where is he..."

"I'm playing, Bellatrix. I don't know." Snape lit the tip of his wand with a spell and Rabastan flinched at the new light,

"Don't do anything to it." He warned, "I don't want it to hurt..."

"Oh," Snape explained, dousing the light and pocketing his wand, "I wouldn't think of it. Perhaps Travers could help you with that when he is well, but I'm no healer."

"You're no help." Mumbled Rodolphus, angered at himself for throwing the clock at his wife.

"The Dark Lord instructed me to help you so please do not make this difficult." Snape felt a sort of newness to speaking with Rodolphus. Years ago Rodolphus always had the upper hand. Now, however, even if Rodolphus threatened him, there was new comfort in the fact that the older man could not even stand on his own legs for very long. "So, for now, I will give you something generic, for nutrition. You, though, Bellatrix, the Dark Lord ordered that I dispose of that cough. So, ladies first." Rabastan piped up as Severus' thin hand hovered above the wooden crate while he considered what to select,

"So, my eye…"

"I can do nothing at the moment. I don't want to risk complicating things further." Snape plucked a bottle and squinted at the label on it to be sure.

"What's that?"

"Just a general coughing potion I've made more potent for you." Snape told her as he uncorked the vial and held it out to her. Bellatrix's hand emerged from hiding and Snape, in a strange fascination stared down the length of his own arm at it. Her fingers were like blades of grass after a hard winter and the colors that had accumulated beneath her nails were of the sickest variety. As her oversized sleeve peeled back to rest at the sharp crook in her arm Snape noticed the dozens of mundane tattoos that had been branded into her once soft skin. Her fingers closed around the vial and brushed his briefly, letting him feel how their touch had been reduced to that of cold wax.

Bellatrix brought the bottle under the fence of hair in front of her face. She did not drink, however, she did ask,

"All of it?"

"Every drop." Said Severus, "I have more that I will leave with the Dark Lord…" He knew that this would satisfy her and it did for a moment.

"It's poisoned."

"No it's not."

"Yes it is."

"No, Bellatrix, it isn't. The Dark Lord wants you to…"

"Poison." She tilted her chin up to look at him from beneath her veil. Severus could feel his vision waver, knowing she was attempting occlumency which she was considered skilled at. Snape was a master, but allowed her to look into his mind regardless, knowing he was speaking the truth. After a second, her gaze retreated from his thoughts and she drank the potion, ignoring the taste until finishing and whining.

"Why don't you trust me, Bellatrix?"

"Because you're a good liar." She threw the bottle unceremoniously to the carpet, smacking her tongue on the top of her mouth, commenting, "You could have made it taste better." Snape ignored her and took up two vials for her husband and brother-in-law. "Did you hear me?" She rasped, shifting, "I said…"

"I heard you and,," said Severus, not even glancing at her, "I'm choosing to ignore you." He handed a bottle first to Rabastan and then went to Rodolphus, who was still hidden in the blankets, "Rodolphus…" He didn't bother beckoning him further because the older wizard had begun to wriggle free. His face came first, skin clinging to a once tough chin, beard grown long and dirty. The robes he wore were enormous on him, "Here, sit up more to drink it so you don't…"

"I know." He huffed, not meeting Snape's eyes when he grabbed wearily at the bottle. The brothers drank sloppily. Rodolphus spit out the first sip he took.

"I'll see if we can get some instruments from Mungo's for your eye." Snape had turned again to Rabastan who was gurgling with all the potion in his mouth that was too unpleasant to swallow.

"Mungo's." Bellatrix tested out the word as Severus returned to the crate to retrieve a nutritional potion for the witch. "Mungo's…"

"The hospital." Snape said over his shoulder,

"Yes, Mungo's." she said, grasping the concept, trying to recall her first doctor's appointment or her check up before attending school and finding only fragments of foggy memory.

"That's where Frank and Alice ended up." He told the witch who looked at him, confused again, "The Longbottoms? The ones you tortured that July." There was a drawn out silence as the men slurped up the potion and Bellatrix regained bits of one of her strongest memories. That was a night she managed to retain through her stay in Azkaban. It was not a happy memory, due to the circumstances, but it wasn't at all horrible and so it had remained untouched by her spectral wardens.

"Longbottom…" she breathed and Snape looked at her strangely while she remembered their faces, all bloodied and contorting, as four wands unleashed fury and fear upon them. The wands of two brothers, herself, and a pale, excited boy, "And Barty!" Rodolphus looked over at her and Rabastan showed interest only in getting the last drop of his potion. "Barty Junior."

"Barty Crouch Junior." Said Snape, remembering how half a year ago, he had been face to face with the man. Quickly, he set the potion on the bed next to Bellatrix, who seemed uninterested, "Yes. Oh, and do drink that…"

"Barty!" Bellatrix was nearly beside herself with sweet nostalgia of the young man she had mentored. Suddenly, though, her eyes found fear and her head snapped about in an attempt to locate the boy, as if he were in the nursery. "Barty? Where is he? Junior?"

"He isn't here."

"Then where?"

"I don't know."

"Did he escape?"

"Yes."

"Then he must be here. In the house, I mean…" she stopped, "They wouldn't kill a boy. He escaped…" Bellatrix seemed to reassure herself, "Of course he escaped, that clever boy."

"He aided in the Dark Lord's return." Snape said carefully,

"Lucky Barty." She chortled jealously, "Where is he?"

"Not so lucky." His voice was quiet and she snapped,

"Stop being cryptic! Stop it. Tell me where my Junior is."

"I don't know." Said Severus, "I just know that he received a dementor's kiss at the start of the summer." There was a long pause,

"Liar."

"I'm a good liar, but I wouldn't do that to…"

"Liar…" she insisted, but he felt his vision waver, knowing she was making certain. He drew up the memory of a thrashing, wailing Barty Crouch Junior being taken away by rough authorities in Ministry suits and was soon jarred back to reality by a manic eruption from Bellatrix.

"Barty! Barty!" she howled, ripping a quilt up and off of herself, "Those bastards! A boy! Junior! Barty!" Her mourning swelled to coughing and then shuddering, tearless sobs. Severus stood there, solemnly through the entire fit while Rodolphus watched his wife with wide, unsure eyes, but eventually his attentions fell to Snape.

"Why did you tell her that?"

"You knew?" Bellatrix barely mouthed, assuming betrayal,

"No, Bellatrix…" growled Rodolphus, but she had begun to snivel again. Sitting up in his bed, the decrepit wizard glared again at the potions master. "You came in here to help her."

"She asked." Snape said simply, feeling a familiar tensing in his chest when Rodolphus looked at him. He recalled the bruises, the shock of a punch, the crunching of bones, that he had come to associate with those angry eyes staring at him,

"She is sick and she shouldn't be upset." The fugitive continued, taking in a breath to catch some saliva that had sifted through the gaps in his teeth.

"Would you like me to lie to her, Rodolphus?" asked Snape, returning to the crate on the dresser, as if preparing to leave. "Would you like me to further scramble what she knows of history?" Rodolphus gave a grunt. Making sure that the crate was stable, Severus was hoping that he had silenced the other man. However when he heard the creaking of bedsprings opposed to defeated quiet that he had prayed for, Snape's confidence wavered. Crate in hand, Severus turned to examine the situation. Rodolphus, by this point had begun to stand, the quilt slipping off of him and half hanging, indecisive between the top of the bed and the floor. The robes he wore were not as oversized as those were on Bellatrix or Rabastan. Snape was taken aback at how his frame had withered away.

"You've done your job." Rodolphus growled, using the low, iron post at the edge of the bed to support himself on his shaking legs. Severus enjoyed assuming that the deranged, violent man was too weak to manage doing any harm. He tried his luck, trying to ensure that Rodolphus knew who was in control,

"What? No 'thank you'?" he said, standing his ground,

"Thank you." Said Rabastan automatically, receiving a scoff from his brother.

"Leave, Snape." Warned Rodolphus over Bella's soft wheezing.

"I will." He said, "I have more grateful people to visit." His robes dragging behind him, Severus headed for the door, his face a blank slate.

"Junior…Junior…if you'd waited." Bellatrix mumbled, tugging at her mane weakly in worn out despair, "Junior." Snape found himself in the hallway again, but just before he closed the door, he saw Rodolphus drop onto the bed again, sitting and slouching. Snape shut the door and surprisingly, he found himself unable to gloat at the shift in power. His smug thoughts were overtaken by the memory of that rotten hand reaching out towards him, begging for restoration or at least a look back at what once was. He remembered the touch of those now grieving fingers, years ago, when they were soft, delicate, deadly. He left for the other side of the house immediately.


	6. Allies

CHAPTER SIX: Allies 

He sat quietly in his study, listening to the breathing of the early morning winds that sifted through the quivering windowpane. The light filtering inside the room had entered slowly while the sun rose, taking its time to help widen the slit-like pupils inside glazed, scarlet eyes. His face was stiff marble as his glance flitted across the paper that rested in his spidery hands. After admiring the headline obsessively, for a sixth time, which read, 'Mass Breakout From Azkaban: Ministry Fear Black Is "Rallying Point" for Old Death Eaters', the Dark Lord looked up at the clock. Search parties would be sent out soon, but they would never think to look inside a muggle house, inside a muggle nursery with duckling wallpaper. He was alone in his chambers on the fourth floor of the Riddle manor, sitting regally in his stiff backed chair with folds of the dark robes he wore bleeding across the floor in front of him. The house was quiet, as it normally was at an early hour, except for the occasional cough of a page when it was being turned or the murmur of a floorboard. He set the copy of The Daily Prophet down and allowed his mind to wander.

The clouds outside had begun to sprinkle the earth with ineffective snowflakes that just dusted the graying ground with a frigid film. The drizzle of snow found itself spraying onto the Dark Lord's bedroom window, lightly brushing the frosted glass. Voldemort could not take his mind from his newly enabled abilities. While he picked at a sliver of loose skin of the back of his hand, he recalled a recent vision that he had been attempting to send the Potter boy. He could picture the dimly lit hallways of that magnificent warehouse and he could almost feel the smoothness of a coveted prophecy in his hand. There was a fear behind his excited determination and a delectably anxious eagerness about the contents of a tiny crystal sphere on a dusty storage shelf. He would lure the boy there now if he knew the perfect method. For it must be perfect. He had finally obtained the agents he needed to execute an attack. He would not waste the opportunity.

Voldemort slowly began to pull a small flap of his gauzy skin up and over one of his prominent knuckles. The texture beneath it was smooth and the area did not bleed as one might expect. Beneath one layer was another, so much healthier and pearlier. The tiny flap he was gently urging up came free, leaving half of his right index finger with this fresh new skin and the rest of his hand with what now looked old and defunct. With a well-groomed fingernail, he picked aimlessly at the edge of the small hole he had made in the old layer on the top of his hand. Then, he took up the paper once more.

****

Bellatrix stood alone in the quiet and spacious bathroom across from the nursery. Carelessly the witch shed her sagging nightdress. It fell limp to the floor, soaking up a bit of water from the tile. She immediately felt the slight chill that hummed through the cracks in the miniscule, boarded up, opaque window. When she changed clothes over the past week, she at least had had her hair to shield her from the few gusts that prowled around the house. Now, her hair was a great deal shorter, dangling just above the small of her back. Thick coils of her mutilated brown curls, which had been shorn from her, lay on the other side of the bathroom near the cracked, porcelain toilet. She shivered and began to shuffle over to the bathtub. Her knees were cramped and she contorted her face at the pain in each small step she took. The bulbs framing the stretching mirror on the back wall of the room emitted a pitiful yellow light and cast her shuddering shadow across the wall. Bellatrix stopped her slow, painful progression across the molding tiles. She was curious to see how her hair looked. When Wormtail had been in the room earlier, she dared not look to the mirror. He, no doubt, hadn't forgotten her first night at the manor. Upon first seeing him again after her tantrum that evening, shame had begun to choke her. Now that the stout wizard was gone, she turned hesitantly to face herself.

However, she was not alone in surveying the caverns between her ribs and the angles of her hips. Wormtail was paralyzed just outside the washroom door. His pudgy fingers lingered on the smudged knob, in his other hand, his silver hand, he clutched a worn, blue towel that he had scrambled to find for his master's favorite. He didn't mean to look at her. He had just left the door open, only slightly, in his hurry to leave the room earlier. His shimmering hand gripped the towel as hard as he could manage. He could see Bellatrix through the sliver of space between the chipped frame and the door. Wormtail was surprised at himself. He wanted to avert his eyes from the witch who he had worshiped through the earlier days of his involvement with the cause they shared. Though, when she crossed wearily to the porcelain tub, it was not familiar lust that drew Peter's beady gaze to her emaciated form, but an almost masochistic curiosity. As he and Bellatrix stared at her body, Wormtail felt something twist in chest, near his throat. He had disrobed the men earlier, glimpsing the way their arms had turned to twigs and was surprised that their horribly graceful necks even supported their heads. Bellatrix's body made the form of even the worst off of wizards seem like it belonged to Adonis. Her mane of hair was gone, a history left behind near the toilet, and she was revealed to be as thin and dead as a skeleton, just as Wormtail had expected, but had never wanted to see. Her complexion was a sallow cream color and was stretched taught in all of the wrong areas. The witch's hips were hugged so tight that it seemed as if bone might rip through the ghostly skin that was wrapped there. He'd been confronted with ribs that were dangerously apparent, but Bellatrix's jutted from her sides and showed like the grates of a rusting vent. The dark veins climbing up her legs were visible, even from across the washroom. She was a mural of tattoos, like all the others, of cell numbers, a rude name or two, dates, government symbols. Dark purple brands decorated her, some were pulled large and taught in places, some rippled under odd wrinkles. Everywhere words and numbers distorted. The unforgettable symbol of Azkaban was seared on the flat space above what was left of her emaciated breasts. He stared. He was like anyone else, needing to watch two passenger trains slam together or finding themselves unable to tear their eyes from a mother hitting her child in public. He was disgusted at himself, but wanted to understand his fascination. If the two of them, himself and this corpse, were here twenty years earlier, he would have understood his need to drink the sight of her in. Now, though…

And what disturbed him the most, he decided, were her ankles. They would have been graceful, had they belonged to a fawn. They barely supported her, shaking a little under the slight strain of weight. There, just above the heel, where the bone was most apparent, was the part of her that we would never be able to chase from his mind. Suddenly, she turned, her expression unreadable. Wormtail managed to uproot his horrified feet, his mind racing with ideas of how horrible her face would look if she spotted him peering or how hard her nails would sting his cheek. He slid back from the door as soundlessly as he could manage on the groaning floorboards and placed the towel at the base of the wall, where the witch might be able to reach it.

****

In solemn script at the top of page 12 was the title, 'Tragic Demise of Ministry of Magic Worker'. Broderick Bode had been strangled by a potted plant delivered to him at St. Mungo's Hospital. He had just begun to show signs of improvement. He had regained his speech... Voldemort tilted his head, his eyes simmering with satisfaction but somehow retaining a glint of displeasure. Bode was dead. Silenced. The Dark Lord's anxieties over the matter were cooled, however, his followers had failed him. Lucius had successfully imperiorized the Minsitry of Magic worker, though he had been misinformed regarding Bode's resistance to the curse. Voldemort pursed his lips. Avery had assured him that Broderick Bode would be easily manipulated, that he could not possibly resist an Imperius Curse, that he would retrieve what Voldemort coveted from the Department of Mysteries.

He wished that the servants that had just recently returned to him could begin training once more and immediately. Now that he could use the Lestranges in battle once again, positions would need to be rearranged, weak ends would be cut. He would need to get all of the fugitives' pensives, naturally. He had the Lestrange's pensives on the other side of the room and he left his picking to glance at them. Lucius has brought them from his manor, Narcissa, his wife, who had hidden the memories, was still forbidden to see her sister, Bellatrix. She had wanted so badly to visit, but Malfoy had not allowed it. Voldemort could not see quite why. Yes, her sibling was weak, but…His index finger was silk now and he discarded the gauzy fragments of dead skin. They fell onto the Daily Prophet in his lap.

****

The water in the channel around Azkaban had been less than merciful. The water in the bath was still and smelled of eggs and she could see the dark cracks at the bottom of the tub, but as she neared it, Bellatrix could feel the warmth of it when the steam ascending from the surface met her skin. The witch placed both hands on the smooth side of the low bath. She tried to hoist herself over the edge, but her legs were so accustomed to uselessness, she found even one small task remarkably challenging. Bellatrix grunted, lifting her right leg over the side. There was a moment of triumph for the lady when the water engulfed her leg, up to her bruised shin. Then, she gasped a bit, in part at the sensation of the lukewarm water but also from the fact that she had lost her balance. Rapidly, she steadied herself using the wall, finding the tiles there to be painted with a film of soap left by the wizards who had previously used the bath. She regained her footing by some miracle. With a bit more effort and with water sloshing over the sides of the tub, Bellatrix sank into the bath, the reawakened sensation making what was left of her muscles prickle. The soaking fugitive gave a grating sigh, her shoulders lowering. Wispy streams of dark beginning to radiate from her skin and hair. The decade of grime was falling away and collecting at the surface of the water. She sat there, her eyes drooping, letting her body take in the feeling of fresh, warm water to waste. Bella let her head rest against the back of the bath. Her fingers gripped the sides of the tub fiercely, as if she was afraid the feeling would slip away or something terrifying would rise up from the rusting drain and drag her under.

Eventually, she eyed the washcloth on a pearly porcelain ledge within her reach. As soon as she had the towel in her grubby hands, Bellatrix began to scrub at her skin mercilessly. The side of the blue cloth she used was soon tainted when it took upon itself the burden of the unholy dirt. She was careful, but she watched and was relieved, as her skin got a little lighter with each passage of the towel. What did her skin look like, beneath all of this? She would know, wouldn't she? Pressing harder, she attempted to remember what her skin was supposed to be. She had come to a point where she could get no farther, it seemed, than a waxy grey on her arms. There was no glow of femininity or aristocratic paleness. There was a dusky yellow blotched with ashen tones. Perhaps it was the light. What if it wasn't the light? It wasn't the light. All those numbers, words, symbols that made it look as if she belonged to that grim place. Azkaban would own her forever, a fact she had feared for years. She pressed the towel harder to her skin, rubbing faster against her arm, her strokes growing increasingly violent. If any beauty or memories of her forgotten history remained, it seemed she was determined to find it under the grime. Though, the taught, yellowish skin remained, only getting a redder where she scratched so desperately. Her breaths were short with frustration and pain. With the way she was fighting to be rid of Azkaban, water was spilling out of the tub and spattering the floor like blood spewing out of a fat lamb.

****

Voldemort's right hand was gloved in a fresh layer of glossy skin. It shown next to his left hand. He took in a long breath. The smell of the room disturbed him. He did not anticipate his anxieties about it to improve, however Voldemort did not anticipate them worsening. The study reeked of muggles. And while the smell of magic from his followers below, from the spells shrouding the manor were potent, he still breathed in the scent of his grandfather.

The man's eyes grew cold for a moment until he looked across the room once again at the three small bowls sitting on the dresser top. The cool light emanating from their depths was reflected in the lengthy mirror above them. The Lestranges were in dire need of their memories. He had not peered into their recollections yet. The Dark Lord rose from his seat, picking up the Daily Prophet and discarding it on his pristine desk. His robes dragging behind him, he went to examine the three pensives. As he approached them, the misty light shining up from within them crawled up his form, eventually casting the gentle, silver radiance onto his pale façade. His gaze found the names engraved on each bowl. _Rabastan.. Rodolphus… Bellatrix... _He lifted his chin, touching the rim of the third pensive with two fingers, enjoying the prickling sensation of the unpolished stone against the new skin on his hand. He leaned to gaze into…

Something landed against the glass of his window with a swift thud, leaving a. spider web of cracks. Voldemort stiffened, moving back from the dresser, his wand quickly in his fingers. He turned and saw a flutter of a shadow disappear outside. A stillness settled again, so that all he could hear was the whistle of the wind through the newly formed fissures in the enormous bay window.

****

The water in the tub was a great deal colder by the time Bellatrix weakly scrubbed away the last traces of soap from her shoulder with a ragged washcloth. Her skin was rid of the dirt, but the odd blotches on her legs and the tattoos and brandings on her arms were bolder, having been rediscovered after the grime had gone. Her arms were rubbed a stinging red. The washcloth was dotted with bits of blood when she returned it to its place next to the soap. It took enormous effort to rise up from the bath, but she managed it, with her relaxed knees wobbling. Her hair hung in untamable, wet ringlets and dirty droplets fell to the floor from the tips of her curls. A light above the mirror fizzled out when she went to retrieve the fresh robes that had been sitting on the sink. The edges of the mirror were made opaque with what she assumed to be the effects of steam from the warmth of the room. However, the heat from the bath had long since died and the witch, upon touching the mirror, found the edges of it to be covered in a light frost. She had begun to shiver, still sopping wet, realizing how terribly gelid and chilling the bathroom had become. Bellatrix looked around for a towel or two and found none. She cursed Wormtail silently for forgetting and adorned the plain set of robes that hung, once again, loosely on her frame. They were dull and she assumed that they had been made for a man. She didn't mind. She was preoccupied with how cold her hair was on her back. The arctic water was seeping through the back of the nearly threadbare garment quickly.

She teetered back to the bath to see if there were any towels that had slipped behind it. Upon approaching the tub again, however, her gaze was immediately drawn to the water. It was hazy, lusterless and not because of the dirt she had dispelled from her aching skin, but due to the fact that an exceptionally thin, brittle layer of ice had begun to form on the surface of the water. Another light above the mirror sputtered and died. Bellatrix's heart palpitated so quickly that it seemed twist in her chest. The window had not opened further, but the temperature in the room was plummeting. Turning back to the mirror, she watched, all her muscles taught, as frost bled across it and two more light bulbs died out. She was now very aware that she could see her breath in front of her.

****

Voldemort, eyes curious and shining, waited, listening to the breeze through the new cracks in the window and his own breath. If the Ministry found them now he wouldn't have time to evacuate the fugitives, would he? While he was working out the details of a spell that might help all of them escape, the silence scraped at him. His muscles were all coiled so tightly he thought they might snap. There came a cry from a few floors below. He felt a swift yank to his priorities and gave a little glance at his door. Was there an attack? Surely someone would have…

His nerves shuddered violently when the dark thing, like a disoriented bird, slapped up against the bay window once more. He prepared to strike and lifted his wand above his head, but did not use it. This time, the thing did not duck away as it did before and Voldemort, even though he could barely see through all of the frost on the window, knew exactly what it was. The quiet became deafening again as he recovered from the shock and lowered his readied wand. He moved with a calmness that masked an excitement. He had known that they would find him sooner than later, especially after the break out. His robes trailing, he went to greet the shadow. When he got close enough, he could see its unearthly breaths fall on the window, fogging the glass near the spiraling crack it had created upon the first impact, coming from within the blackness under its drooping hood.

The cloak it was draped in buffeted around it gently like ebony angel wings, as it hung there in the picture window, gazing down at the Dark Lord. It did nothing but breathe, knowing that it had reached its destination. The dim, grey light from the sky behind it, projected a misty corona around its head. Shifting slightly, it sluggishly placed its hand on the window. Voldemort glanced at the palm pressing against the glass. The skin, if skin at all, that was displayed there, was a concerning grey. The fingers were lengthy with a gracefully disgusting arch to them as they pushed on the window in solemn greeting. The frost intensified around the hand, making the fingers disappear eventually. There was a peace about the meeting and a reverence shared by both parties, as if they realized the sacredness of their alliance.

Suddenly, the wind roared and the hood the creature wore flipped back. Eyeless sockets, bloodless veins prominent all over, and a gaping hole where a mouth should be, were all revealed in a flutter of cloth. Voldemort blinked quickly, taken aback.

"Master!" came a strained voice from the hallway, "Master! The Lestranges are in fits, they…", The surprised door slammed against the wall with a yell from its hinges as the little man rushed inside the study. Voldemort turned, bathed in the shadow of the dementor hanging outside the window, the train of his robes twisting on the floor around him,. "Master! The Lestranges…they think dem…" Wormtail became very still, his wand shaking, his hands at his sides. The last remnants of color fell away from his face as the quietness about the moment returned, nearly drowning him. "Holy…" He couldn't finish, his lips had gone limp as a second and third dementor slowly approached the window. Voldemort did not acknowledge them,

"You didn't knock, Wormtail." The Dark Lord stated simply. The tiny man responded only by blinking and swallowing. "You didn't knock, Wormtail." Voldemort paused again, "I don't like repeating myself." He would have reprimanded his servant with a torture curse, but he decided that fear would be punishment enough. He secretly delighted at the wideness of Wormtail's eyes and how badly he trembled.

"F-forgive me, Master, but…"

"Yes, there are dementors." Voldemort helped him finish, a condescending sting slipping off of his thing tongue. The two other dementors were crowding the glass, only one of them with its hood still covering its face. "Clearly, I am aware."

"Yes, Master." Wormtail's voice was a thread of sound now and his eyes were becoming moonstruck, his breathing slowed.

"They mean no harm. I told you they would regain realization of their deepest loyalties."

"Yes, Master."

"Look at them, Wormtail."

"I am."

"No, really look. See how delicate they are? Lovely creatures…" he spoke poetically as he turned back to his allies. Wormtail's feet were nailed to the floor but the rest of him shivered so dreadfully that his teeth were clicking against each other while he watched his master fawn over the dementors as if they were rare birds in a heavenly menagerie. "So peaceful. Learn to appreciate them." Voldemort's eyes brightened when there came a series of cries from the second floor.

"Master, the Lestranges. I tried to…"

"What?" Voldemort demanded,

"They're in fits. I-I said. The dementors are upsetting them."

"Are they downstairs?" His face was unreadable, "The dementors?"

"Not-not in the house I don't think…they said they were scratching at the windows." Wormtail said carefully, glancing up again at the dementors. "But they were so distressed, My Lord. My Lord, I couldn't do anything. Perhaps, Master, if you went down just to see them, soothe them." Voldemort took two steps, impulsively, and then his lips pursed and his feet planted.

"Just tell them they need not worry."

"I have, Master." His breath had become mist.

"Tell them again." Voldemort said, glancing back at the dementors. Five had now accumulated by the window and Wormtail's brow had produced a cold, shining sweat.

"I will…" he said robotically, noticing how one of the creatures outside was brushing the circular crack in the glass with its rotten finger. More screams could be heard from down stairs.

"I will see to them." Voldemort reasoned, moving to the door.. It had been rude to not to inform them that he had anticipated the dementors finding him here.

"They will be grateful, Master." Wormtail said obediently, watching that finger trace the lines in the glass.

"Yes." Voldemort gave one last look to the window and then began towards the door. Wormtail pivoted, about to follow, but his master stopped him, "Would you bring the Daily Prophet down? It's just over there. Have a look at it, we're becoming a popular topic these days." And he was alone with the gathering peering through the window. Wormtail's chest tightened so quickly it hurt. The absense of Voldemort in the room lead him to fully realize the dementors were watching him. It seemed as if they had crowded closer and stared more intently without eyes. Wormtail was about to use his wand to retrieve the Daily Prophet, but he knew the spell would send pages flying about the study. He shuffled, aware of each heartbeat, towards the paper in the center of the room and reached out his favored silver hand, seeing the odd reflection on the metal of the shadows of the dementors obscuring the light from the window. His fingers touched the paper. There was a shattering of glass as the dementor thrust its arm through the window.

****

Bellatrix crouched by the door of the washroom, her face buried in her arms. She screamed into her sleeves. Rookwood, another fugitive, had taken refuge with her. His fingers gripped his mussed, russet hair and he peered about the dim bathroom with wide, dark eyes. They did not move near to each other, they did not move at all. All they could do was listen to the other cries from the parlor and to the occasional scraping of nails on the bathroom window. It was boarded, like all the other ones on the first and second floor, but white light from outside filtered in through the cracks in the wood. They could see shadows passing which cast the entire room into blackness for a few horrifying seconds. The scratching came again. It began slowly. Bellatrix whimpered and Rookwood moaned, lowering himself to the floor. The witch tried to press herself against the wall, as if she were hoping she might melt into it and emerge when the terror was over. There were a few of them clawing at the window now.

The water on the floor had slowly been coaxed to ice. The mirror was encased in frost. Bellatrix's short breaths shrouded her face in fog. Rookwood shuddered and repeated,

"Shit, shit, shit, shit…" while pulling at his curls. And then, the creatures were gone from the window again. The room fell silent. The wizard's knuckles were white. Bellatrix lifted her head from her arms and looked to him,

"Do you have a wand?"

"No. Do you—"

"N-no."

"Damn." He choked on the word and both of the Death Eaters stared at the light filtering into the room. The meager beams of pale sunlight that reached the floor glinted off of the ice on the tile there.

Bellatrix, hearing something, scrambled to kneel, her oversized robes hindering her. The water in her hair had frozen and her stiff curls hung in her face.

"What is it?" Rookwood begged, tightening his grip on his hair. She clawed at the doorknob with a shaking hand and twisted it while getting up. "What?" he whispered while he shifted, preparing to stand,

"Master." She opened the door and immediately Voldemort's unmistakable voice swept into the bathroom. He was further off in the house, but he was demanding,

"Don't draw your wands!"

"My Lord!" Bellatrix teetered out into the hallway. All of the lamps had burnt out and the corridor was cast in a deep blue. Some frigid light streamed in through the window at the end of the expanse. Her legs were trembling and after standing so swiftly, blood rushed to her head, clouding her vision further for a few moments as she staggered towards the parlor. "My Lord!" she cried out again, "Master!" She turned a corner and was nearly thrown to the ground by a man in a mask flying towards a shout that had risen up from somewhere behind her in the house. There was a strange quality to the air, though she was too familiar with it. She breathed in the familiar chill of the presense of the Azkaban guards.

****

Voldemort stood halfway down the staircase, gripping the railing and barking instructions to a bearded wizard who ran towards the ballroom. Bellatrix, when she arrived in the parlor, looked around the higher spaces in the room, where enormous, sealed windows rose above the chamber. She realized that a dozen shadows hung beyond them. The outside of the manor was swarming with dementors. Fugitives somewhere in the room where sputtering. Their voices echoed off the wood.

Voldemort raised his wand and the tip exploded with light. The spell did not illuminate much of the room, but Bellatrix, who stood at the top of the stairs noticed immediately, the calmness on her Master's face when it appeared, like a beacon out of the blackness. He turned quickly in her direction when she shouted. Something petite had rocketed past her ankle, spooking her. She dropped low to the carpet and clutched the wooden railing. A flustered, stout rat tumbled towards The Dark Lord. It rushed around Voldemort's feet and planted itself on a step before transforming. Wormtail, sprouted up from the form of the rodent and cowered behind his Master. Bellatrix hid her face again, her nails gripping the carpet on the balcony. When she looked up again, she noticed the other fugitives huddled around the edges of the room,

"They're in your study." He wheezed, wringing his pudgy hands together violently,

"And?"

"And-And I locked the door. I had to-had to use a patronus. Some of them left…they got in through the window and--"

"You used a patronus?"

"Yes?"

"You want to tell them off for joining us?"

"They attacked me, My Lord…"

"But I haven't properly…" he scowled. Bellatrix watched his neck extend as he turned his gaze upward to the windows and the dementors. She looked once more to the shadows beyond the "They are blind, Wormtail…"

"I know, Master." He rambled, "But they have followed them from Azkaban, they know who they are!" Bellatrix cowered low again, feeling the chill of the wraith's presence above her. She gasped with terror and sobbed, clenching her jaw.

"Wormtail, be quiet." She heard the Dark Lord snap. Bellatrix trembled, bleating softly, pressing her face into her boney knees. Desperate for warmth again. Desperate to be rid of the dark, ravenous gaze of the dementors beyond the windows. Bellatrix released a noise from the depths of her. She suddenly sensed a light upon her. The witch lifted her head and then her hand, trying to shield her eyes while blinking hard in the glow of Voldemort's wand.

He looked at her. Her hair had been shorn. Her skin looked like it had improved. She was shaking terribly. Her thin lips were dark and cool from the chill. Bellatrix's dark eyes held horrified tears. Her fragile hands wrung the folds of her robes. What Hell had she lived out in Azkaban… Bellatrix squinted at him.

"Bella." Voldemort's tone was unreadable. She did not know if he was frustrated with her, was intending on comforting her, was planning to reprimand her, but she couldn't have cared. He acknowledged her and the ice in the air around her became easier to bear. "Come here." He motioned to the steps beside him.

"My Lord, if your door doesn't hold…"

"It will. Quiet." He said, moving his wand nearer to him, illuminating Wormtail's shining, flushed face and then, without looking at her, calling distantly again into the darkness, "Bella." Her eyes had not even adjusted to the inkiness of the atmosphere when she scooted towards the edge of the first step. Blindly, she began to crawl towards her master. "That's right." She had nearly acclimated her sight again when she heard Wormtail whisper,

"I'm afraid that they are here for her. If you…That's the reason they…" Wormtail stuttered. Bellatrix stopped, halfway to her Master and gave a wheeze of fear.

"No it isn't Wormtail. They've forgotten about them. They released them. The dementors released them. Come, Bella. He doesn't know what he's talking about." She obeyed as he corrected Wormtail quietly and severely, "They are finished with them. They don't know them from anyone else. But they know me. They have come to join me. It's how it happened before…"

"Can you be sure, Master?" Wormtail persisted. A man somewhere in the room gave a start, "I am afraid for them…" Bellatrix forced herself not to focus on the debate. She took it upon herself to notice how the carpet felt beneath her fingers, how much space was left between her and the hem of the Dark Lord's robes. She occupied herself with trying to memorize how the shadows hugged the insides of his ears, the back of his neck, the space below his cheekbones, the grooves at his collar. Bellatrix was drawing nearer, quicker, her steps growing sloppier.

"Don't doubt me." The Dark Lord warned.

"My Lord, they will attack us…"

"Don't doubt me, Wormtail." He hissed banefully.

"I won't, Master."

"I am utterly offended you think I would allow that." There was a long silence in which the rustling of Bellatrix's robes halted. She closed her eyes and kneaded the hem of his cloak with trembling fingers. Her head found the side of his knee and she pressed her face into his robes, resting there, feeling blood move again in her veins.

"Forgive me, Master." Wormtail mumbled, hiding his lingering panic.

"If you stay quiet, perhaps." Another pause wedged itself into the conversation, Voldemort shifted, and Bellatrix thought she felt fingers instantaneously graze the top of her head, "And get them back to their rooms. None of you will be harmed. Leave me to deal with the dementors." The light from his wand dimmed, casting the room back into the meager light of the obscured windows them all. Voldemort moved from her, towards the door, his cloak slipped through Bellatrix's fingers as he descended the stairs to exit the manor.


	7. What Could Be Recovered

_They moved with mute panic, all dressed in extravagant formal attire. As soon as they appeared in the center of the sleeping street with a series of snaps, the woman among them, brandishing her wand in one hand and lifting up the skirt of her grandiose gown with the other, charged up and over the clean cut curb and onto the preened lawn beyond. She did not wait for the others. Barty squealed in fright,_

_"Wait! Bellatrix!" He was boy, nearly a man, but too short to properly look it, and he called after the witch. He had nearly dropped his wand after apparating and stopped only to secure it in his grip before hastening after the woman. His wide, pearly eyes were flickering to all the shadowy places near neat bushes and behind drowsy houses. _

_"Damn it." Growled Rodolphus, an enormous, dangerous gentleman, who set off after his distressed wife and her apprentice. His polished shoes, meant for a ballroom, were slippery on the grass,_

_"Are you sure you know the way, Bellatrix?" yelped the man's brother, Rabastan, his voice airy and hoarse from smoke and his hands shaking as he gripped his thin wand. She was three houses away, sprinting as fast as her slender heeled boots could take her over the sidewalk. The four were bathed in orange light from the lampposts and their quivering shadows flapped behind them, scraping the houses and clawing at windows before passing on. _

_"Yes!" her voice was strained. Bellatrix slowed for a moment to get her bearings, her legs trembling and her blood hot with anger and terror. _

_"It's one street over!" Her husband barked. The boy had reached her and was trying to ask her something, but Bellatrix simply hissed back to her husband,_

_"I know!" her gown fluttered, twisting as if she were still on the dance floor, when she sprang away to the left, spooking lawn ornaments near the bushes. _

_"Bellatrix!" whimpered the boy, galloping after her. Bellatrix approached the waist high, wiry fence guarding the backyard of the home. There was a clanking, a quivering of delicate metal, a choked grunt, a whipping of fabric, and she was over on the other side. The boy uncoordinatedly launched himself at the fence, his hands being bitten by the protruding bits at the top. He had just found his footing when the powerful, merciless paws of Rodolphus had taken the shoulders of his dressrobes. The older man tossed the wisp of a boy to the other side. Barty wheezed when the ground hit his chest. There was a dog yapping a few houses to the right. _

_Rodolphus cleared the fence with a profanity alongside his quaking brother, whose cloak tore a bit on the wire. Rodolphus snatched up Barty's frail wrist and dragged him along. The group managed over the second fence, which separated the two well-groomed backyards with less difficulty and less noise. They were all relieved to see a homely little gate awaiting them on their path to the street beyond. There was a light glowing on the upper floor of the house they were approaching from the rear, but Bellatrix didn't hesitate to fling open the gate with a clatter._

_"Bellatrix!" Reprimanded her husband, trying to stop her carelessness before it worsened. _

_But she was out, into the street and then across another lawn and into shadow before Barty even stumbled from beyond the gate she had torn through. She paused for a moment, not because she cared to have them catch up to her, but to scan the houses sleeping along the edges of the well-swept street. _

_223._

_Bellatrix saw the address posted on the weatherworn mailbox and sucked in a swift breath, her face electrified with fresh determination. She flung herself forward, towards the hushed, two-story house. Rodolphus, however, caught her arm. _

_"Bellatrix!" She was jerked back for a moment, but was quick to yank the wizard forward again. Barty watched, wringing his hands together as Rodolphus had to use all of his strength to keep his spouse at bay, "No." _

_"I need to know."_

_"We need to plan."_

_"If you…"_

_"We don't have another shot at it. We need to do this, right, Bellatrix." He said, releasing her from his grip when she had calmed enough to stand still. _

_"Fine then. I'm checking the exits."_

_"Don't go in." He warned, "I know you want this done, I do too…"_

_"I know!" She growled to her husband. _

_There was a light on, on the first floor; Rodolphus suspected it shone from the parlor. The blinds had been drawn across the large window, but the Death Eaters could see blurred shadows of the wizards within. Barty managed to inquire,_

_"How will we go about it?" He received no answer. Bellatrix had already begun to swiftly circle the house. The darkness of the backyard had devoured her. _

_"Aurors…Aurors…" hissed Rabastan._

_"Where?" Barty looked about with his moony eyes,_

_"No. I'm just worried." _

_"They're going to scream." Rodolphus noted. _

_"So will Bellatrix. She's always so loud…" His quaking brother added, "I'm no good at silencing charms. You do it." Rodolphus had started to cast spells that stretched around the perimeter, muttering incantations under his breath. When Bellatrix reappeared on the lawn, she swept across the grass in a flutter of skirts and returned to the trees. _

_"What the hell are you doing?"_

_"Silencing charms."_

_"Fine. Be quick." She snapped, tapping her wand against her leg,_

_"You're sure this is the right place?" Rabastan stammered, loosening his silk necktie with trembling fingers, "Suppose it's not the Longbottoms."_

_"I'm sure it's the right house. Now," Bellatrix growled, "They only have a back door and a front. Lots of windows, though."_

_"Damn." _

_"No, no. They won't leave each other. They won't jump out." Assured the witch, staring at the house again, "Rodolphus, hurry up with that. They won't leave their son, either."_

_"So how do we do this?" Rabastan inquired, licking his chapped lips. Bellatrix breathed, eyes locked on the shadows in the parlor,_

_"Easy. Kill the baby."_

_"No. They won't tell us anything." Rodolphus reasoned sharply,_

_"I want to kill it." She would not take her eyes from the window. Her husband promised her quietly,_

_"After…" _

Bellatrix, even though she only had time to view a few snippets of memories in her pensive earlier in the day, she continued to obsess over them. Over every detail. She replayed the forgotten fragments of her character, conscience, her old life, over in her mind's eye even as she sat, waiting in the parlor, her neck stiff from leaning into the pensive for too long.

It was a bright afternoon. She did not light the lamps in the room, instead she had enjoyed opening the blinds that had been so still and so loved by moths for so long and allowing the white glare from the clouded sky and snow to reach into the room in a single, compressed finger of light. She sat hunched on the sofa, her focus drifting between regained memories and awareness of flocks of dust particles rising up from the sofa to meet the shine from the window. Bellatrix was stirred only when she heard the whimpering of the hinges from the entrance of the manor just down the hall.

The doors to the parlor had been left slightly ajar. She heard Wormtail mumbling some sort of greeting and then she was very aware of the foreign tapping of delicate, heeled shoes moving across wood. She breathed in. There was a tentative rap on the door,

"Bella?" the voice that questioned was as light as delicate drumming of silverware on a crystal glass. But the tone was rich and well mannered, "Bellatrix?"

"Come in." She mumbled warily,

The woman's hair was so fair it seemed to glow, even in the mediocre light from the hallway. Illuminated from behind, by light streaming in from the entrance of the manor, the bright woman's face was veiled in grey, her costly, eggshell blue dress robes turned navy in the shadow. Bellatrix wet her lips slowly and gazed at the silhouette of her baby sister, now grown, pampered, and glamorous.

"Oh," Came her crystal voice again. The blonde shifted in the doorway, switching her pearl-studded purse to her left hand, "Bella."

"Come in." The fugitive repeated, beckoning the other witch to enter. Her heels clicking, the blonde glided into the room where the sunlight from the window met her, inching up from the tips of her pricy pumps, coloring the folds of her eggshell robes, accenting her chaste, lace gloves. Her face had changed so much and yet so little over fifteen years. Bellatrix commented simply, "Well, look at you." Her sister's lips parted, about to respond, perhaps say the same to her sister in reply, but soon they were sealed shut again, a film of rosy lipstick forming in the crease. The apples of her cheeks were more pronounced, probably due to the fact that she had smiled as much as her husband's career called for, Bellatrix thought. Perhaps, it was simply the desired effect the excessive, yet appropriate amount of rouge that blossomed there. The edges around her bright eyes were sketched with crows feet and somehow, those eyes screamed that they had seen too much and not enough of the world at the same time. "Take off your cloak, have a seat." Bellatrix managed a smile at her polished sister. The well-to-do witch clicked towards Bellatrix's side as she unfastened her winter cloak, which was still spotted with icy powder from the storm outside. As soon as she had set it down on the battered armchair she passed, she turned to the Death Eater, who was committing herself to relearning her younger sister's mannerisms. Narcissa was about to remove her gloves when she bit her lower lip and sucked in a rather loud breath. Suddenly, she enveloped Bellatrix. Nearly drowning in her sister's faux floral scent, the witch managed, "Narcissa." Narcissa's arms were wrapped tightly around her and the thick, fur collar she wore was shoved up in Bella's face.

"Bella!" Narcissa said from over her older sister's boney shoulder. Bellatrix noted the foreign softness to her sister's cheek and neck. Narcissa broke the embrace, her blonde curls tossing, and took Bella by her upper arms, being careful not to squeeze to hard, for fear her sister's arms would snap. Her eyes roved over the fugitive's form. The wrinkled, oversized robes that she wore hid the most horrible parts of her, but Bella's shrunken neck and hands were enough of a display of her state. "Are you very cold?" Narcissa asked delicately.

Bellatrix coughed, "No. I'm a little feverish, still."

"You haven't touched your food…" commented the younger witch, motioning to the meal that had been neglected on the bruised coffee table, an easy reach away from them,

"I did. I ate all the bread." Explained Bellatrix, shifting,

"Lucius says they have you on a special diet to get your strength back…"

"Yes. However, my stomach isn't used to all of this…" Narcissa glanced again at the shining meat, some sort of pasta, cheese, and something else in a wrapper meant to nourish her sister.

"Oh…well, please at least try…" Narcissa sat up on the edge of the sofa and fixed her flaxen hair, "How are you? I mean, you still seem weak but…you said you're feverish?" she asked, looking at her shoes absently, "Lucius said you cough a lot…"

"Yes." Bella scoffed, leaning back, "I'm better than I was last week." She paused, "How are you?"

"I'm very well. So glad you're back." Her porcelain teeth were showcased in a comfortable smile.

"Me too." Bellatrix added, giving a very different smile of her own, laced with pain, awkwardness, perhaps jealousy. "Tell me what I missed."

"Where should I begin…" she veered off track, "Oh, Merlin, Bella. I can't believe it! I still can't."

"I know." Bellatrix was so glad of the lady's company, however alien conversation with another pureblood woman had become. Conversation with anyone in the manor was wrought with tension and pressure. For the most part, talk with her sister had always been light, fresh, small talk and utterly pointless. Bellatrix secretly sighed. "I don't know where you should begin. Lucius?"

"Oh," her eyes fluttered down for a moment, "He was promoted again two years ago. He's getting to be a fine friend of Mister Fudge. Mister Fudge is a delightful man. He's taken with us."

"I'm sure the Dark Lord is glad of that."

"Um," Narcissa paused at the mention of Voldemort. Bellatrix didn't notice, "Yes. Yes, I'm sure. But we went to the Minister's private holiday celebration again this year. It was marvelous. It was just a few weeks ago."

"Ah, yes. But, you and Lucius." Bella asked, watching Narcissa intently. Bella didn't care about her sister and her brother-in-law's relationship, but she cared even less for listening to stories of lavish banquets that had occurred while she had been spending the Holidays debating whether or not to eat her own filth.

"His temper has improved." Narcissa hummed "But he was never really awful to me, you remember? Just to clients and all that. I've heard he's still as fiery as ever in the Wizengamot, but he's always such a fine orator. He can get away with anything…" She clucked and crossed her legs the other way, finally removing her gloves. "He's wielding a lot more power at Hogwarts too."

"So, things are fine at home? The horses?"

_"We can't ride without a saddle?" She inquired, leaning against the smooth wall of the stable._

_"You could." Lucius said, turning over his shoulder while supervising a long-nosed house elf that stood on a ladder. It was nearly finished adjusting the fine, leather bridle around the nose of the animal. "If you fancy falling off and having to begin your fifth year with unimaginable neck injuries." She laughed and eyed the black boots she had to wear. They probably looked idiotic on her. Lucius emerged from the shade of the stall. The stable sported a high ceiling and all the windows near the beams stretching near the roof let in bright light. The summer sun washed the space in gold, "Better tie that hair of yours back, Bellatrix."_

_"Fine." He looked handsome in his riding robes. She admired him shamelessly while pulling her hair, which had gone wild in the humidity, into a ponytail. _

_"Just you and I today. Shame Andromeda doesn't like flying." Lucius said, catching her eye. _

_Two house elves emerged from the shadowy stalls, waxy fingers gripping the reins of two impeccably groomed pegasi. Bellatrix was distracted from the boy and her gaze roved over the enormous, thickly feathered wings that both creatures bore on their muscular backs. In the light, their grey coats shone silver,_

_"Yeah, no Cissa either." She moved across the sawdust-laden floor,_

_"For once." Lucius said, turning and brushing a house elf away with his hand before moving around the horse and being sure that the saddle was drawn tight to its back. Malfoy gave a start when he felt the girl's hand sweep across his thigh. _

_"So," he watched her begin to pull herself up onto the other creature, "what was that for then?" _

_"Honestly, Lucius," she replied smugly, trying to hide how embarrassingly difficult mounting the pegasus was, " Do I ever have a reason?"_

"Fine." Narcissa looked down, "All fine…"

"Really?" Bellatrix coughed a bit, her thoughts returning from the summer before her fifth year at Hogwarts, "How many do you have, now?"

"Just seven of the pegasi, but we bought another peacock and the hound…" She set her gloves in her lap and laughed, her curls falling in her face, "She's gotten so big…the dog."

"A bitch? I never thought Lucius would buy one…"

"It's not another guard dog. It was bread for show, though we've never entered it in a tournament."

"What?"

"We bought it for Draco's fifth birthday. I didn't think it would get much above my knees, but its head is up to my hips. It's nearly the size of the little foal…"

"Draco! Oh, I want to see him. How is he?"

"Draco is nearly sixteen now…" Narcissa wrung her hands in her lap,

_He cried when the green flames roared instantaneously in the fireplace. Narcissa was sitting in Lucius' armchair, which was so big it nearly swallowed her. Her cheeks were red with delight and her eyes were bright when she looked upon her sister who had just burst out of the hearth. Bellatrix wore her cloak indoors, more than nervous to be out of hiding, but ran to her sister, even though not all of the curtains in the drawing room were closed. _

_"Oh…" she managed, looking down at the blankets in Narcissa's arms, _

_"A boy." Narcissa said over the baby's wails,_

_"Wonderful."_

_"Yes." The new mother looked up, "He's not used to floo powder yet so he's…sorry…" she shifted him gently in her arms,_

_"I wish I could have been…" Bellatrix began,_

_"It's all right. I understand."_

"Ah…" Bellatrix asked, "Is he tall?"

"Yes." The area between her nose and upper lip wrinkled.

"Fine looking?"

"Oh, he's very handsome. He's in school." She took in a breath, tilting her head to the side quickly, her nerves taught in her neck, "He's seeing this girl, Parkinson. She's very nice…good Father."

"Narcissa, stop crying." The blonde sucked in a quiet, rattling breath through her nose and pulled a laced handkerchief from her handbag. "Narcissa…" Narcissa shook her head and wiped her eyes, "I know I'm ugly." Again, her sister shook her head.

"No, no…" she tried,

"Yes!" Bellatrix snapped hoarsely. Narcissa turned her head away. Bella felt something hot bubbling in her stomach. Narcissa wrung her handkerchief in her hands, not turning back to face her. "Come on. Respect me enough to…" Bellatrix grabbed Narcissa's silky sleeve. The blonde recoiled with a chirping yelp. The springs of the sofa shrieked when Narcissa stood, her gloves and handbag slipping from her trembling knees to the floor. "Well…" The sister's were still, Narcissa, holding her handkerchief to her breast with a bone white hand, staring once more at the dust drifting in the light and Bellatrix looking anywhere but at the superficial blonde, eyes unfocused. A horrible silence.

"I'm sorry Bella." Narcissa's blue doe eyes finally gazed upon her older sister.

She took a pause, her eyes roving over Bella's mutilated face. "I don't know. It's just been so long, you know?"

"Yes," Bellatrix sat up again, with a cough "it has been."

"Well," Narcissa cleared her throat and recovered, "did Severus bring you a potion for your cough?" Bella laughed gratingly. She didn't forgive her.

"It didn't work. It hasn't worked…I still cough. What if this never goes away and he's just making it worse so I can't go on the mission this March the Dark Lord is intending for me?" She continued to half-consciously burp up her private anxieties.

"No, no, no…" assured Narcissa, "Severus knows what he's doing…" Bellatrix mumbled for another moment and then went still, staring at the untouched food on the coffee table, "I'm so happy you're being honored greatly for what you did Bella." Narcissa tried,

"Just to be back here is enough." Bellatrix confided quietly, unmoving, "And, Narcissa, when he, Master, comes near me, and it isn't often, it is worth every moment of Azkaban…"

"Really?" she said cautiously, ignoring her sister's term for Voldemort, which one would usually only use in the presence of another Death Eater, "How is Rodolphus?" Narcissa tried. Bellatrix gave crisp laugh,

"I don't know." Narcissa laughed lightly and Bellatrix rolled her eyes, "I really don't know. I don't really care to know."

"Should I say hello to him? Is he well?"

"Enough. He's not interesting. He's showering now," Bellatrix explained, "but he isn't in a sunny mood if that's what you were hoping for. He was shorn like a sheep last Monday. He wants to get his hair back to the way it used to be." She said with a rotten chuckle, "Then again, don't we all."

"Was your-was your hair very long?"

"Well, it was nearly to the back of my knees at one point." Narcissa gasped, "I cut it Monday, well, Wormtail did, actually." She raised her eyebrows "Rodolphus wasn't too happy about how short his was after Wormtail was through. None of us were. We were so used to it…" Bellatrix paused, "It will grow back to the way he used to like it by summer."

"I probably sound like an annoying little thing, but, just how are you two doing…you know…"

"I told you. I don't know."

"But, reuniting, after fifteen years. That must have been nice…" Narcissa raised her eyebrows and allowed a smile to tug at the corners of her mouth,

"Not really." Bellatrix said simply.

"Oh." She pursed her lips for a moment, "Well, give it time. " A door slammed shut outside the parlor and Lucius' voice rang down he hall,

"Hello?"

"Oh!" Narcissa sat up, touching Bellatrix's arm, "We've brought your things."

"What?" the dark haired witch wrinkled her nose,

"Narcissa? Bellatrix?"

"One moment! We're in here!" Narcissa answered her husband while standing from the sofa. She began to help her sister to her feet,

"What did you bring?"

"Your things."

"I don't have anything…"

"Yes you do. You did." Explained Narcissa, offering her arm to Bellatrix when she noticed her sister's knees wobbled a bit. Bellatrix refused help and proceeded towards the entrance hall while Narcissa went on, "Um, before you…were tried in court, I had Lucius send a few friends over to your house. We got what we could. I told them what you'd probably like to see again...I saved clothes, too. Some. They'll do for now. Anyway, they should do much better than that thing they gave you." Narcissa opened the parlor doors for her sister. When they reached the end of a short hallway, lined with empty picture frames that had had the muggle photographs that they once contained torn from them.

Lucius awaited them in the entrance hall. He was carefully removing his well-made leather gloves. Snow was soaking through his lengthy hair and his tailored robes were dank at the hem. Two bulky trunks and a few boxes sat on the floor next to where he stood while he finished an argument with a sour-looking Wormtail,

"So just go and get him."

"Fine." Wormtail said, barely acknowledging the witches. He glanced at Narcissa for a moment and then lazily waddled up the stairs after muttering something dreadful under his breath.

"Good afternoon, Bellatrix."

"Hello." She said to her sister's husband, looking him straight in the eyes. He produced a swift smile,

"Well, here you are." Lucius bent over to tap a trunk's oversized padlock with his wand, his damp cloak dragging on the wood floor,

"Sort through." Encouraged Narcissa when the chest was liberated. Bellatrix shuffled forward, "Take what you'd like. I'll keep the rest."

The lid reared up, the brass padlock at its front clanking when it was jarred. Bellatrix hovered over the chest for a moment and then knelt before it. She did not touch anything inside for a moment and just allowed her eyes to rove over the objects crammed within. It was filled to the brim with smaller boxes, fine fabric, papers…

She let her hand settle, at last upon a few envelopes, bound to one another by a simple string. Upon opening one, she found it to be a letter from Severus Snape sent to her in the year 1973. Another envelope contained a released O.W.L. exam from her years at Hogwarts. The others were all letters from her mother.

"Goodness those are old." Narcissa commented, peering over her sister's shoulder, "You know, I've never gone through any of this. It's all a surprise to me, too…"

Bellatrix knew she was lying. Her sister would have rummaged through her things at some point. Bellatrix didn't want to bring it up.

She lifted a pair of boots from further inside the trunk. They were brown leather, made for a wizard, with three, thick straps wrapping across the front. The bottoms were in a shameful condition and the stitches near the toes were peeling up.

_"That rain is awful." Rodolphus was the first in the door. His cloak was soaked through with water and his hair stuck to his damp face. Bellatrix who didn't look much better, even though she carried a shining umbrella, shut the door tightly,_

"I_t wouldn't be so bad if you had proper shoes on." She reprimanded casually, while he shed his cape uncomfortably. Bellatrix shook the excess water from the umbrella. "Just get rid of those old things…"_

_"We never have time to get new ones." Rodolphus complained, flicking his wand and lighting the candles in the hall. His wife chuckled, when he cast a spell to dry her sopping curls,_

_"This weather..." _

_"France isn't giving you the warmest welcome…" _

She studied a pair of gloves. The fabric was soft and sheer. Bellatrix couldn't remember where she bought them, why she bought them, where she wore them, surely she had worn them…The witch carefully tried one of them on her left hand. The glove was loose around her lean wrist, but the fabric hugged her fingers.

"I think you wore those… I don't remember. You liked those, though."

"Yes…" Bellatrix said,

"Rodolphus." Lucius said, turning to greet his brother-in-law, who had begun to limp down the staircase.

"Hello."

"Rodolphus!" Narcissa chirped, "Are you feeling well?"

"Better." His hair had never been shorter. He looked cleaner without the long beard he had possessed but now he looked even thinner being shaven and shorthaired. His decent halted for a moment while he furrowed his brow and gazed at the blonde witch, "Who are you?" If she was offended, she did not show it,

"Narcissa. Lucius' wife."

"Mmm…" hummed Rodolphus, secretly ashamed he had to support himself with the railing. He looked down at Bellatrix who had, by this time, slipped both gloves on her frail hands. Rodolphus opened his mouth to say something, but simply moved to the other chest. Bellatrix glanced up once and then went and removed the gloves. Lucius opened the second trunk for Rodolphus. "What's all this?" Questioned the fugitive, moving around the boxes,

"Your old things." Explained Lucius, running a hand through his hair.

"Oh." Said Rodolphus, kneeling at the edge of the trunk.

The top layers of the contents within were a shocking white. Narcissa moved to the chest immediately leaving her sister to rummage through more papers quietly.

"Oh, I remember putting that in there." The witch commented, her eyes flickering back to Bellatrix as Rodolphus tentatively lifted up the folds of fabric and shifted them into his arms. "Bella, I know you used to think it was useless, but…look." Bellatrix did. She stared at the layers of lace that her husband was cradling,

_"Ouch! Mum!" She snapped, jerking away when the needle pinched her shoulder. Her mother didn't apologize. Druella Black simply drew her eldest daughter back to her by the arm. She waved her wand and charmed the needle and thread again. _

_"Nearly done with this one."_

_"I'd rather you were careful than quick." _

_"I am being careful."_

_"All right." There was a pause. The needle finished its work,_

_"Believe me, I'm being careful, Bellatrix." Druella said, brushing a strand of her hair from her face. She stood back as her daughter gazed at herself in the large mirror. The dress now had one sleeve. _

_"I don't understand why I can't just wear gloves."_

_"What if you need to take them off?"_

_"Why would…"_

_"To eat. To…I don't know, darling. Just suppose you did."_

_"I just wouldn't. I told you." Bellatrix frowned at her reflection, "Sleeves will make it look…"_

_"It's fine."_

_"They'll make me look old."_

_"Well we have to do something about…that." Druella selected her words carefully. Bellatrix's right hand slowly and gently wrapped around her left forearm, _

_"I wish I didn't have to."_

_"Bellatrix you shouldn't have it in photographs…"_

_"I'm proud of it."_

_"So am I." Druella assured her daughter unconvincingly, _

_"No you..."_

_"I am, darling. Believe me. But it won't do you any good to have everyone figure it out." _

Rodolphus fingered the fine fabric of the wedding dress. It was soft and cool. He remembered it. He let his touch trace the buttons at the back of it. They were smooth, round. He knelt with the dress and was about to explore all of its textures but stopped, suddenly aware of all the eyes that were upon him. The wizard looked up. His wife was staring at him for a moment just before her gaze flashed to her sister,

"We…You should have saved practical things. " Bellatrix said,

"It didn't take up too much space…" Narcissa reasoned while her sister looked back to the trunk before her and carefully drew out another bundle of letters. Bellatrix suddenly sat straighter. Lucius noticed a change come over her dark eyes as she fondled the precious envelopes.

She touched the name and address printed across the front. It had been years since she had seen or heard that name.

"Oh…" commented Narcissa when she saw what her older sister had discovered, "Those were in your dresser drawer or something." Bellatrix nodded and opened one of the letters from Mister Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Rodolphus set down the white gown at last and peered across the space at his wife. He noticed how gently her thin fingers brushed the corners of the parchment. How her lips parted slightly to barely form a few of the words that her dark eyes roved over. Her right hand trembled while holding the letter. Her left hand rose to her face to brush back a wild curl.

Lucius, hovering over Bellatrix, studied the swooping handwriting on the parchment. He knew it well. The man and his name may have changed but the heir of Slytherin's looping scrawl was unmistakable. However, his eyes were torn from the paragraphs complimenting Bellatrix's dueling strategies and from the side notes in the margins offering small tips about strange spells. Inside the trunk lay a folded white shirt. He remembered the night he had managed to retrieve it from the Ministry of Magic. It had been considered evidence. It could not be burned. It could not be washed. Too many charms had been laced through it, however, that did not mean it could not be hidden. And it had been.

The dark stains were visible immediately. All over the dress shirt accusing blotches of a deep substance remained from so many years ago. Bellatrix was cradling the letters. She didn't mind or notice when Lucius first drew the garment up from the depths of the trunk. When her sister made a sound at the sight of it, though, the dark haired witch's head tilted slightly. Still clutching the parchment, Bellatrix glanced over at her husband,

"It's yours." She told him.

"Oh, put that away…" Narcissa instructed her husband, but Rodolphus had moved to have a closer look at the sullied shirt. Lucius held it far from himself, pinching the edge of the fabric between two fingers. Bellatrix's gaze roved over the gruesome blots that peppered the sleeves...

"_Where is he?!"_

_"No…"_

"_Flagellero!" Rodolphus howled, whipping his wand at the wizard in the chair. Blood sprayed from the fresh gash in the man's shoulder. It was warm on Bellatrix's bare arms. The wizard's wife gave another cry from her place on the carpet. She lay twitching, holding her head. She had already suffered the Cruciatus Curse for nearly twenty minutes._

_"Seal it up, Rodolphus," Bellatrix urged, her hand shaking, "so he doesn't go numb." With another wave of his wand, Rodolphus healed the man's fresh wound. The only light in the room came through the open window and through the buffeting lace curtains. The streetlight, a ways away from the Longbottom's house, cast the room into a faint orange._

_"We don't…know anything." Frank Longbottom's face was bathed in sweat and blood. His jaw was tense, his well shaven face was contorted. He glared up at the three wizards before him through his damp bangs. _

_"Yes you do!" Raved Bellatrix. All the joy she may have experienced from the task of interrogation on any other evening had vanished from her. Her nerves trembled, her stomach felt as if it was being strangled, and something was rising in the back of her throat. "Tell me! Tell me, now!"_

_"We can't, because…" The woman on the floor gasped. Crunch. The sharp heel of Bellatrix's boot had found the witch's ankle. Alice Longbottom's wails of pain were stolen however by a curse,_

_"Crucio!" The gloomy corners of the room were illuminated by a bright, poppy red light that sparked from Bellatrix's quaking wand. Alice was enveloped in bands of searing scarlet magic, her face screwed up and her body jolting about. She could not cry out. Her husband cried for her, struggling against the full body bind Rodolphus had administered,_

_"Stop! Stop!"_

_"Crucio!" Bellatrix barked, her grip on her wand tightening. The spell fell upon the witch again. "Crucio!" And again. _

_And the red light flickered and illuminated the scene unevenly. Barty Crouch Junior stood behind his mentor, taking in the images of Alice Longbottom on the floor. Her eyes were shut tightly, the creases around them were deep. Her teeth gnashed. Her hair tossed as she rolled about in front of her husband. When her eyes did open, they had rolled back into her skull. Barty shifted. _

_The room was dim again and Alice found her voice. She moaned and then fell silent for a few minutes._

_"Alice! Alice!" Frank shrieked, "Damn it! Alice! You've killed her!!" _

"_Oh, I wouldn't kill her." Bellatrix panted quickly," Even if she begged for it. Which she will. You both will." Barty observed Alice again, now that his eyes had adjusted once more. She shuddered occasionally, her eyes had closed again, and he now noticed that on the pastel carpet beneath her face, a pool of dark juice was spreading. Blood was leaking from her mouth. She must have bitten her tongue… "No, I won't kill you. That is, until you tell me where the Dark Lord has gone." Bellatrix had grabbed his face with her left hand. She dug her nails into his cheek, being sure to carve out deep grooves there._

_"So if I knew-knew and if I told you… you'll kill m-me?" Frank hissed through the stinging pain._

_"Maybe."_

_"So why should I…"_

_"Because you'll crave death! Because I'm going to make you desperate for the Killing Curse. Because seeing what your wife will look like when we're done will make you plead with me to finish you off! Tell me where he is!"_

_"No."_

_"CRUCIO!" Red again. She watched the chair he sat in rattle on the floor. She watched his nails stab at his thighs. _

_Suddenly, above the noise of the splintering charges of the curse, the Death Eaters heard a sobbing coming from the hall behind them. Bellatrix turned, stopping the spell, and saw her brother-in-law appear in the doorway. Alice made a noise from the floor. Rabastan brought a baby into the room. _

_"How about I give him a nice crack to the head…" Rabastan offered, raising the infant up into the air, about to crush it against a dresser top. But his brother's hand stopped him,_

_"No!" Rodolphus and Bellatrix exclaimed at once. They glanced at each other,_

_"Neville" Barty heard Alice breathe her eyelids fluttering. Her speech was strange now that her tongue was swelling, "Neville…Mhmm….MMM!!!" She twitched. The infant, Neville, was squealing in Rabastan's vicious grip. _

_"No," Rodolphus explained quickly, "Wait." Bellatrix stared at the baby, "Bellatrix will do things better. Barty, shut it up in the mean time…" He said, looking again to his wife who had turned to the Longbottoms. Barty was given the baby and he held it awkwardly. The child's cries began to lessen, surprisingly. Alice Longbottom lifted her head a little,_

_"Frank." Bellatrix said swiftly, through her teeth, "Frank, you are going to tell me where the Dark Lord has gone." He convulsed slightly, not meeting her gaze, "Crucio." The spell began to surge up his arm he wriggled and drooled in his seat. From across the room, his son's eyes became wide while he stared at the glimmering red shine. Bellatrix gave a glance at the child and then continued to instruct his father, _

_"Nnn…." Frank whined through his nose before choking,_

_"Tell me and the pain will stop." Her breath was short, "It will stop. Tell me, Frank. Tell me, now!" The wizard gargled something and Bellatrix drew her wand back. The scarlet light faded again, "What was that?" Bellatrix drew near again, eyes wide, teeth clenched tightly together, her chest, painted with drops of blood and perspiration, rose and fell rapidly at the top of her dirtied dress robes. _

_"I…" Frank coughed,_

_"What?"_

_"Mm…I…" _

_"What?!"_

_"…Nnn…."_

_"Damn." Rodolphus growled, "They're too far gone. You've cursed them too much."_

_"They're mad." Rabastan marveled, gazing at the pair of slobbering wizards,_

_"No they aren't!" Bellatrix howled, "They aren't mad! They're playing at it. They just want…they aren't." She slapped Frank swiftly. "Talk!"_

_"Bellatrix…" urged Rodolphus,_

_"No?" the witch spat at the lolling wizard in the armchair, "Fine. How about your baby? How about him? Neville, is it? The little one?" She swept past her husband and reached out her hand, "Barty, give it here." Neville was passed from the boy to the witch. Just before she took up the baby, however, Rodolphus started. A flicker of light flared and a shout was heard outside. Neville screeched when Bellatrix lifted him by his arm. She rushed to Frank and swung his son in front of his ashen face, "You want to see me break his bones? You want me to do it slow? You want to watch?"_

_"Bellatrix!" Rodolphus yelled over Neville's crying. He waved his wand, casting a spell on the child. Neville kicked and cried, but now no sound escaped from him. _

_"No!" Bellatrix protested, "Let them hear him…"_

_"Shit!" Rabastan backed out of the room when a crash was heard downstairs,_

_"Bellatrix someone's here." Rodolphus tore the baby from her and Neville tumbled to the floor and tossed at the feet of his father near the shivering arm of his mother._

_"Damn it! Rodolphus we can't apparate!" Rabastan hissed from the hall. _

_"No!" Bellatrix reeled, trying to leap again at the Longbottoms, but Rodolphus caught her. She wailed, "We need to know! I need to! I need him! I need to!"_

_"Oh…oh…oh…" Barty heaved, backing up against the wall, seeing wand light flash up from outside the window,_

_"Come here!" Rodolphus pulled his wife into the hallway, shoving past his younger brother, knocking him into the wall. A photo hanging clattered to the ground,_

_"What the hell?!" Rabastan barked, clutching his arm, losing his balance. But Rodolphus was quick. He flew up the wooden stairs. Bellatrix fought hard, clawing at him, tearing his cloak in one place. But his grip was firm and he dragged her to the attic. The room was black except for the meager, yellow light from the hallway lamps. Bellatrix was shoved behind an mauve sofa with horrendous tears in the cushions. She hit the dusty floor with a thud. Rodolphus ducked down with her. She scratched at his arm,_

_"Stop it!" He ordered, wrestling with her to get a hand over her mouth,_

_"No! No!" Bellatrix flailed, the folds of her dress limiting her. "I need to know!" _

_"I know! We can find someone else if we don't get…" He gave up reasoning with her. Rodolphus forced all of his weight on her and held her down to the floor. She still screamed and spat in her husband's face. He shifted to put his arm over her mouth, holding her shoulder down with his elbow. Bellatrix bit Rodolphus' wrist with all her strength but he did not move. He instructed her as his arm began to bleed,_

_"We are getting out of here. We're going to get out." Rodolphus hissed when she bit harder, "and we'll find the Dark Lord." She relaxed and he continued, "We'll kill the aurors…" There was a shout from downstairs and the couple sat up. Rodolphus drew back and peered up over the top of the couch. Bellatrix coughed and stared at her husband. The collar of his shirt was smattered with Frank Longbottom's blood. His hair was sticking to his brow. His eyes were bright. The determination on his face was what she admired. He was loyal to the Dark Lord. He would keep his promise. He would help her find him. Rodolphus turned to Bellatrix again, keeping his body and voice low as the noise from below grew louder, "We'll kill them all when they come up here…"_

_"I don't have my wand. It's downstairs." She hissed to him. _

_"Oh." Rodolphus looked away for a moment, "Here." He shifted and suddenly pressed his wand to her palm. He paused, "You're best with it." Rodolphus told her quietly,_

_"All right." The wood was cool and it curved easily to the shape of her hand,_

_"I'm going behind the door." He rose._

_"Fine." She said as her husband shed his cloak quickly so he could move faster.. The fabric fell over Bellatrix's knees. When he had gone to the other side of the room, she recognized that the absence of his voice and ragged breaths only made the sounds from below clearer and louder. She peered over the sofa, and saw her husband poised at the door, wandless. The witch then focused on the light coming up from the stairs. Barty screamed from downstairs. She gripped the wand tightly._

Bellatrix snatched the stained shirt from Lucius. Rodolphus leaned forward, staring at her. She traced the splotches dried blood with her finger, still holding tight to the letters she had found.

"We should throw it out."

"No, Narcissa," explained Lucius quietly, "It's evidence."

"Exactly, dear, what if…"

"What if the wrong person were to come across it…"

"Have you tried burning it?"

"Yes." Said Lucius, finalizing the discussion. The Malfoys fell silent again and watched when Bellatrix suddenly slid the shirt across the tile to her husband,

"Rodolphus, it's yours." She used his name for the first time. Rodolphus reached out for it, meeting her gaze. He offered her a faint smile. She may have returned it. Her lip had twitched slightly. But he couldn't quite tell. Bellatrix had already turned, her hair falling in her face as she immersed herself again in the letters from Tom Marvolo Riddle.


	8. The Dark Mark

She lifted her head from her pillow; her eyes slow to cooperate in the dimness. There was a noise. Or was there? Against the door, down low. It was fading slowly, but it sounded like something being pushed up against and dragged across the wood. Bellatrix rolled over to get a better look at what might have been a shadow beneath the door, splaying onto the rug. The Manor was still, again. The room was dark, however, one could never tell if the sun had risen; the boards that reached across the window on the far side of the nursery were well sealed. Whatever time it was, the witch's legs were still lifeless and her eyes begged her to sleep again.

Bellatrix drew the sheets up to her neck and listened for the sound again, memorizing what she could of the shadowy curves of her wand that lay on the nightstand. It was her first and had a carefully mended crack right down from the tip to where the worn handle began. Her mother, when Bellatrix had broken it so many years ago, had insisted she never use it again, incase it backfired. Bella had found it within the trunks Narcissa had delivered on Thursday. It was a thinner wand, but far from smoother than the one the Ministry had confiscated.

Rodolphus' uneven, ill breaths were warm through her hair. The witch glanced across the room to the shape of her brother-in-law, Rabastan, who was still shivering, sicker and quieter than the rest of the fugitives. He shifted, probably in another fit of fevers. But Bellatrix let herself close her eyes, attributing the noise that had disturbed her to the rhythm of The Manor. The building always sang at night, if one listened close enough they would always hear floorboards harmonizing with the frosty wind that hummed through the cracks in the walls and boarded windows.

She moved once more. Her knee had sunk into the small crevice between her cot and her husband's, which they had moved next to each other. Rodolphus' soft, ragged snoring ceased, but she didn't turn to see if he had woken up. She chewed lightly at the inside of her cheek to relax herself. They still spoke little and avoided getting too near to the other. Something had compelled the witch to allow him to draw their small beds together. She blamed obligation, as had been the dominant theme of their marriage.

Marriage. She was married to the man beside her, whose wiry frame she pressed her back to each night for warmth and nothing else. He did not hold her and the couple had not shared a kiss in years. Bella intended to keep things that way for as long as she could. He was a stranger now. She slid to the edge of her cot, the springs complaining. At last, with Rodolphus' snoring snuffed out, the witch fell still.

But, it was not long until she was roused again, this time by a blistering, familiar, and long-awaited pain in her forearm. The death eater sucked in a loud breath and wrung her frail fingers around her scalding arm. She found herself gritting her teeth. But through the pangs she staggered from her bed. In the blackness, her blood flying through her, Bellatrix clawed at the nightstand and, shaking, took up her wand. She moved around the cots in the darkness, her hip finding the dusty dresser's edge as she rushed for the trunks that were lined up against the wall by the door. And as she steadied herself in front of the chests, she felt the fire that had erupted in her forearm slowly begin to cool.

She pointed her wand at the padlocks on the trunk before her. With a spell, she opened the box slowly. Its' hinges murmured.

"Lumos…" She hissed. Everything inside was as unorganized as she had left it, however, her forearm stole her attention. She put her wand close to the tattoo there, bathing it in the crystal light. During her time in Azkaban, the marking on her arm had retreated into her skin, fading to nothing but the lace of a scar. Now, in the glow of her wand, the brand she had received as a girl, the one that all of her comrades wore, was as dark and defined as it was fifteen years ago. On her left forearm rested a serpent slithering out of the jaws of a skull. Bellatrix could not admire the Dark Mark for long. It had burned for a reason. The Dark Lord was calling her to meet with him.

Bellatrix heard Rodolphus turn in his cot, but did not look to see if he was awake. She had managed to find her old, black robes in the trunk. She adorned them over her cotton nightrobes and buttoned them as quickly as she could. Something inside her had been winding itself tighter with every moment. The Dark Lord hadn't summoned anyone else, at least, not Rodolphus or Rabastan, who were silent in their beds even if they were awake. Was she being honored or being punished? She gave a fast look to the mirror before entering the hall; her hair was wild from sleep, her face without make-up. She couldn't keep him waiting. She would never.

The hallway was lit with oil lamps, but she still held her shining wand in front of her for the stretches of hall where the darkness consumed the corridors. The witch hurried on her still rickety legs to the entrance hall, her bare feet quiet on the dirty wood. She cursed herself for not bringing shoes. Would he think she looked foolish? Or worse, would he think she was unprepared if he sent her to a task? Bellatrix met no one on her way. She swept past open doors, locked doors, and finally rounded the final corner to find the parlor dark.

For a moment, the only sounds in the entire entrance hall were the broken gusts that wedged through the windows near the ceiling and the tick tick ticking of the looming grandfather clock below. The stairs cried with surprise when she began her descent. The witch was suddenly reminded of clambering down these steps, weeks ago, when dementors hung above her and her Master was coaxing her towards him. She passed the step where he had stood. The light of her wand made Bellatrix's shadow drag behind her like a dark veil or mantle that rippled over the steps. The clock struck six-thirty with a single, shrill chime,

"My Lord?" Her rasping voice sounded small in the blackness.

When she reached the floor of the parlor, she looked about, extending her arm as far as she could, illuminating first the fine oak doors, then the hallway to the drawing room, and then the table. Instead of the glint of a wine glass, she saw the shine of two glassy eyes upon her. Bella let out a choked gasp. Nagini, a serpent she had not seen for a dozen years was slinking towards her from under the long dining table. Bella let out a muted, nervous humming as her Master's pet slunk to her. The snake's scales were green and gleaming and looked more like armor than anything else. Her head swayed from side to side as she made her way near to Bellatrix, flicking her black tongue. The woman stared as the snake passed her without a sound and disappeared into the blackness beyond Bella's light's reach. Bellatrix watched the scaly tail slip away at last and allowed her shoulders to fall.

"My Lord?"

There was another sound behind her. A series of overlapping hisses. Her lungs twisted up inside her. She turned, moving towards the place where Nagini had slithered away, near the window. The light of her wand stretched out before her. She surveyed the grimy carpet, the arm of a covered sofa, the slanted coffee table, then Nagini's pliable body curled around his pale, bare feet. Next came the hem of his robes, the fabric of his cloak, his sharp shoulders and high collar around his slender neck. Voldemort's scarlet eyes rested knowingly on his servant.

"Master!" Bellatrix's knees found the floor immediately and she bowed low to the wizard sitting placidly on the sofa and staring at her.

"Good morning, Bella." He greeted her quietly, "Please sit up." Bellatrix felt her face flushing for some reason. She hoped he wouldn't notice. The witch gathered her legs under her, shifting a few times until she was fairly comfortable, "I know you need your rest, but you may sleep later…"

"Yes, my Lord. I don't mind at all." The witch glanced down at the snake around his ankles.

"I knew you wouldn't." She felt his eyes brush over her, "You look better and you certainly sound better at any rate."

"I'm feeling so much better, Master." Bellatrix set her wand on the floor and let the cool light shine on both of them.

"Well, in a few days, we will see if you are well enough to duel again." Bellatrix watched Nagini slide up and onto her Master's lap. His alabaster fingers trailed along the snake's sleek back.

"Yes, Master." And Bellatrix began to gently pull at the ends of her curls at a slow rhythm.

"Now," Voldemort said, watching her tug at her hair, "you will be visiting an old friend of yours and I expect…" The snake had slunk onto the maroon sofa cushion and was whispering something to him. The Dark Lord turned his head slightly and then looked away from Bellatrix for a moment. Softly, he replied, hissing to his pet in Parseltongue. He turned back to Bellatrix and informed her while she gaped up at him, bathing in his attention, "I expect you to speak with him this evening or tomorrow. Horace Slughorn, these days, does not stay in one place for very long."

"Slughorn…" Bellatrix had not given thought to that name for years.

"Yes, he will not give you trouble. You are strong enough to talk to him, I imagine. And I am putting my trust in his fondness for you when you were a student of his."

An assignment. Since the moment she had seen the Dark Lord again she had craved orders. Bellatrix was desperate to help. Bellatrix's blood was sent racing faster. Things were nearly right again,

"He lives, currently, in Alveston, remember this, near something called the Greenhill Gardens. His address is number 14 Wolfridge Lane. You will go to him when it is dark, naturally."

Suddenly, Voldemort looked out into the gloom of the parlor, beyond his servant. Bellatrix turned too and quickly felt Nagini gliding past her. She watched the snake melt into the shadows again. Bella turned back to look at the Dark Lord, but he was still scanning the blackness. Nagini hissed from farther off and Voldemort lifted his hand and tossed his fingers swiftly. The candles on the chandelier awoke with hissing of their own, spraying the room with flickering orange light. Bellatrix saw Nagini in the corner of the room, coiling herself tighter and tighter around a rat. Voldemort called across to the serpent, who dropped the rodent immediately, only to crane her neck to pick it up again in her jaws to bring it to him. She had gotten close enough for Bellatrix to see the rat's dark eyes flashing around wildly and its mouth open and close rapidly as it gasped for air. Voldemort nodded and Nagini's jaw tightened. The rat went limp

"For a moment, I thought Wormtail was paying us an unwelcomed visit." Dark drips fell from the snake's lips to the floor as she swallowed her breakfast, "For once, he is not." Bellatrix looked at Voldemort again. The light from the candles rippled over his pale face. He looked like he was offering a small smile to her. "Now, as I said. Number 14 Wolfridge Lane in Alveston."

"Yes, My Lord."

"Do not use Floo Powder. You must apparrate to the backyard. You will find your way inside and greet him cordially." Bellatrix heard Nagini finally swallowing the rat behind her.

"He won't report me?" She asked. The tip of Voldemort's tongue flickered from between his lips.

"Bella," He inclined his head, "I smell your anxiety. Do you think I would send you away now if there was the slightest chance of you being arrested again?"

"Forgive me, I don't doubt you, I c…"

"I did not think you did." Voldemort said leaning forward to promise her, "But understand me, Bella, you will never see Azkaban again. Things in the government will change. You never have to go back" Bellatrix's stomach had tangled itself up somehow, she wanted to shift under his hard stare, but she found herself paralyzed, "You have my word. You don't have to worry about that."

"Thank you, Master." Bellatrix managed, her sweating fingers finding the hem of her robes, kneading the fabric. Nagini returned to her Master's feet again, a new bulge in her neck.

"Be kind to Horace. Talk of old times. He will have wanted to see you. He, no doubt, has worried about you. As terrible as the pressure to renounce your friendship has been upon him, even if he does not admit it publicly, he has never succumbed to anyone who spoke ill of you or this cause. I have chosen you because he will know you are weakened, he will find you harmless." Bellatrix couldn't help but frown at this. Never in her life would she have expected to be chosen for a task because of her weakness, "And he will not send you away. You must look as cleaned up and as young as you can. You must soften him to the thought of a Death Eater. If you need to remember him or how it used to be, ask others for memories of him that you might visit."

"What should I talk to him about, Master?"

"You need to recruit him. I suspect Dumbledore will be interested in hiring him in the fall. We could do with his alliance. We could also do with his knowledge of potions."

Bellatrix immediately thought of Severus. What would he think of Slughorn joining? Showing him up, being ten times more reliable than Snape had ever proven to be.

"Tell him you won't come again. That is true. But don't inform him that the next time, if unfortunately for him there is one, I will send someone to him it will certainly not be one of his old students. However, present it as a onetime offer. But let him know he will not be harmed should he receive the Dark Mark. You may make an Unbreakable Vow, even. He will not be harmed."

"I will tell him, my Lord."

"Good, good…" There was a silence. And Bellatrix soon realized his face had gone blank. His glassy eyes just moved slowly as Nagini slithered up to whisper by his ear. He listened to her, staring ahead. Bellatrix became very aware of her own breaths, of her torso rising and falling rapidly, of the warmth of her fingers wrapped around her wand. And she studied him again as he listened to the murmurings of the snake that was sliding across the back of the sofa now, to envelop both of his shoulders. His jaw was set firmly. The snake quieted for a moment and then hissed again, quieter. Voldemort met Bellatrix's eyes for a moment before responding to his pet in Parseltongue through clenched teeth. The snake recoiled for a moment, drawing her head back slightly as though he had insulted her. But then, Bellatrix watched the serpent tilt her head and press her chin up against the Dark Lord's pale cheek. Voldemort looked back to Bellatrix, "She worries for my health. But, I have not slept well."

"I am so sorry to hear that, my Lord." Bellatrix replied quietly.

"She shouldn't worry. I have been preoccupied with the things I should be preoccupied with. So I don't mind." Voldemort observed the witch sitting at his feet. Slughorn would listen to her. She looked healthier now, at least, but her face still seemed too lined for her age. She was still more a skeleton than a woman. As he watched her grow uncomfortable under his gaze, he noticed how dark her eyes were.

_"Have you nothing else to say to her? Let her go off, or call the others. You should not waste time, not now." _Nagini advised him, brushing his ear with her black tongue,

"_I am not wasting time. I am thinking."_

_"Not about what you should be, get this finished and allow yourself to rest…."_

_ "I think about the boy always."_

_ "Not always."_

_ "Yes, always. Always. Now, leave." _

Nagini slipped off of the Dark Lord's shoulders and slid away. When the serpent had finished its climb up the stairs, Voldemort was left alone with his servant. He was not well. The tightness that had developed in his stomach was at its worst. This new body was proving harder to adjust through than he could have imagined.

"Master?"

"Hm…"

"Yes, My Lord?"

"You will remember what I've told you?"

"Yes, yes…" She assured, leaning forward, her nails puncturing deep into the carpet as she stared up at him. Silence washed over the room again.

Voldemort pursed his lips when Bellatrix began to chew at her tongue. She had madness in her. It might feed her zeal, but could she be controlled? He watched her fingers massage the rug. Regardless of whether or not she would stay focused in combat, Voldemort was sure that Bellatrix was still essential to his force. Azkaban had offered her a new, quivering energy, even in her weakness. Her wide, black eyes held some new light that they had not known fifteen years ago that revealed all of her loyalty, devotion…

Voldemort drew his wand and Bellatrix drew her thin hands into her lap expectantly. Waiting for him to cast some sort of practical spell. The Dark Lord's stomach was churning slowly, but he would carry on with the meeting.

"Arm out, Bella." She obeyed, as always. Voldemort wrapped his fingers around her slender wrist and pressed his wand against the Dark Mark on the tender skin of her left arm. She released a grating breath when the pain struck her. The Dark Lord looked away, his insides constricting.

The Manor stirred. Floorboards on the second floor moaned under fugitive's feet. Slanting staircases somewhere in the house were rudely awoken. The fireplace in the entrance hall, next to the ancient clock burst into emerald flames. Voldemort released Bellatrix, who had shut her eyes and sat shuddering for a moment from the sting in her arm with a small smile on her lips. When the fire fizzled out, a man stepped from the hearth, a bit of soot smeared across the cheek of the pristine white mask he wore.

"My Lord." He bowed low, eyes flickering from his sister-in-law to his Master.

"Lucius." The Dark Lord said simply to Malfoy, who dusted ash off of the front of his sweeping cloak. Wormtail, hunched and disheveled, scurried down the stairs. "Ah, Wormtail, before we begin, would you clean up this mess on the carpet?" The stout man and Lucius eyed the place on the rug that had a dark shimmering spill seeping into it. "Nagini has taken care of another rat."

"Yes, Master." Wormtail managed, not meeting Voldemort's eyes. There was a knocking sound as the pimpled wizard drew his twisted wand.

The Dark Lord opened the doors with a flick of his wrist, revealing four other masked wizards on the porch. They entered along with the winter wind.

"Get up, Bella." Voldemort instructed.

"Yes, Master."

The witch managed to stand on her sore knees, leaving Wormtail alone to crouch, frowning, on the carpet to clean. She turned to see her husband and brother-in-law beginning their weary descent into the parlor along with two other fugitives she could not name. Rodolphus was trying his best to avoid using the worn railing.

Voldemort swept at the air once with his wand and the chairs in the room slid across the floor and aligned themselves in a circle, facing inward.

"Sit, all of you." They did. Bellatrix found her seat next to the Dark Lord, with her husband beside her. Along side the slumping Rodolphus sat his brother, followed by the straight-backed Lucius Malfoy, the rest of the shivering fugitives, and the four masked men. There was one empty seat at Voldemort's left side. Snape's chair.

Wormtail stood up from his work, pocketing his wand, and shifted in the center of the Death Eaters, eyeing the empty, wooden chair.

"Now, return to your quarters, Wormtail." Wormtail bowed low after his simple task. Bellatrix noticed him attempt to paint his face with gratitude.

Voldemort raised his eyebrows after flicking his tongue,

"You thought you would be a part of the meeting, did you?"

"Well, I assumed since you called…"

"First, do not make excuses. Second, never expect to be honored for anything. "

"Yes, Master." Wormtail managed, turning with tense shoulders to return to the stairs. The Death Eaters watched him retreat through proud eyes.

The Manor fell still again, when Wormtail's sorry footsteps left the staircase.

"My friends…" began Voldemort, ignoring his stomach, which, thankfully, had settled a bit. He looked each of his followers in the eyes, "I have called all of you here this morning in order to continue our discussion regarding the prophecy." He glanced at Bellatrix, "For those of you who were unable to attend prior meetings on this issue, I shall explain. Within the Ministry of Magic, there is a certain, research facilitation subtly titled 'The Department of Mysteries'. In a chamber there, the Ministry houses all of the prophecies collected over the years. One, in particular, is of importance to me. Before our first series of attacks in the summer, I would like very much to know what the prophecy has to say. The prophecies are each contained in…"

The doors opened again and all eyes fell upon a windswept Severus Snape, who entered the parlor with a gust from outside. His robes buffeted. He wore no mask. Behind him, the Death Eaters saw a line of sunlight rising up over the houses in the village. The moment Snape bolted the entrance, he bowed low, his oily black hair hanging in his face,

"Master, forgive me. I was speaking with Dumbledore. I am sorry." Snape swept into the circle, removing his gloves. Voldemort stared at him. Bellatrix tightened her fragile hands into fists. The professor had been late. He should have been punished for his disrespect,

"Very well, Severus. Sit down." Snape found his seat in the vacant chair and Voldemort continued, "The prophecies, as I was saying, are kept on towering shelves and contained in delicate glass spheres, each labeled clearly. I am concerned with one regarding myself and the Potter boy. About a month ago…" he took a breath and refocused, "You know, Lucius, perhaps you should inform them about what happened. You know, with Broderick Bode." Some of the Death Eaters shifted in their chairs. Voldemort inclined his forehead very slowly, staring through his red eyes at Malfoy, who still wore his mask.

"I was instructed to place an Imperious Curse on a wizard named Broderick Bode. He worked in the Department of Mysteries and therefore could access the Hall of Prophecies. I led him to the 98th row and commanded him to retrieve the prophecy." He paused. Bellatrix watched a thick vein in Voldemort's neck appear near his ear while he watched his servant, "He reached for it, but fought hard against my curse. I don't know exactly why...but he fought and fought and eventually broke free. He ran from the room, from the Department, to get help no doubt. This was all after hours, of course, and I had to catch him, render him speechless with a curse that…"

"Enough. Good. Good." Lucius' shoulders heaved when Voldemort stopped him. "Now, also, to be sure our returning members of this council are completely caught up with our efforts, Lucius, please, could you name the wizard who, at the last meeting, suggested that you curse Bode to carry out this task?"

"Avery." Malfoy said obediently, "It was Avery, I believe."

"Yes." Said Voldemort, not looking at the masked man beside Severus whose foot had begun tapping at the floor, "It was. And, you know, Rookwood told me something interesting the other night. When Avery was not here at the Manor with us."

Rookwood looked up from his fingers, which he had slowly been twisting together during the conversation. His wispy, brown hair that fell into his grey eyes could not hide the anxiety that had blistered on his pockmarked face. Rookwood looked to Avery, whose feet still tapped, "Rookwood," Voldemort explained, his eyebrows high, "having worked in the Department of Mysteries before his incarceration, told me that there were spells cast on the prophecies kept there that would mean death for anyone who attempted to remove them that was not mentioned in the prophecy they wished to obtain. Which, Rookwood also told me, was undoubtedly why Bode resisted so fiercely. Though Lucius was punished weeks ago for a weak curse. I must commend him for his efforts in maiming Bode and then, sending a plant to end him in Mungo's Hospital. I am far more upset to know that someone had not done proper research after being assigned to do so."

In an instant, Voldemort was standing. Avery's chair toppled with a tensing of the Dark Lord's pale fingers and the masked man was thrown to the floor. The Death Eaters all flinched, some gasping in surprise and quickly quieting themselves as Avery began to moan, a horrible pain finding his head where he had landed on it. Bellatrix sat straighter, eyes wide, as she watched Voldemort draw his wand from within the breast pocket of his robes in a clean movement.

"I will not be disrespected. By disobeying my orders, which were to ensure the success of that operation by thoroughly researching the entire situation, you have proven that you are lethargic at best, traitorous at worst." Avery wailed when the scarlet coils of the curse began to tear at him. Voldemort administered a series of Cruciatus Curses to his servant, holding his wand high. The bloody light of the spell spattered the faces of the other wizards while Avery tossed about on the ground yelling,

"Master! Master! No! Master!" Until his pleas became wild and wordless from behind his mask. Soon they were robbed from his all together when the Dark Lord hissed again,

"Crucio." Avery was silent now as he thrashed, allowing the thud thudding of his limbs to be heard. The pain bit into his organs, scraped quickly at his bones. Then, with a flick of the Dark Lord's wand, the light faded. The circle sat frozen, except for Bellatrix, whose toes were flicking up and down up and down up and down,

"Why am I strict? Why do I discipline you?" The Dark Lord told his servant on the floor, his voice flooded with integrity, "Because I need to ensure you know how much is at stake. We cannot lose this chance…I care too deeply for your futures." Voldemort stood over Avery, who was just a twitching tangle of robes, shaking on his side, froth mixed with blood foaming out of the crack near the bottom of his mask.

"I cannot allow this world to continue as it is." Voldemort looked to the others in the circle, his chest heaving, with blazing earnestness in his strange eyes. An inspiring desperation illuminating him, "All my life I have striven to improve it. I have endured, arguably the greatest trials a wizard has ever been faced with and I have returned to continue my work to save this society. This cause is too vital to the Wizarding World for you to be throwing away opportunities. Or do you not even think this worth your time. Or do you even believe in this at all anymore. Do you doubt me? No matter what the motivation for your idiocy, you will know I have the power to save this community. Your bones will know it. Your blood will know it." Voldemort bent over slightly to give a gentle tap to Avery's left knee with his wand. There was a crack and Avery hissed and produced a guttural sob as he folded further, wrapping his quaking arms around his broken knee.

"Now that we have done our research," Said the Dark Lord, returning to his chair, keeping his wand in his lap, "let's exercise perfectionism this time around. Row 98. No one but the boy or I can touch the prophecy. I cannot exactly go there myself," He read the thoughts of a masked man besides the tense Lucius Malfoy with a glance, "No, Jugson, I will not risk sending Nagini. And this leaves us to the obvious and bothersome conclusion that the only way to retrieve the prophecy is if we somehow involve the boy."

"Imperiorize him, then?" suggested Jugson,

"I did not ask for ideas." Voldemort scolded with a sniff through his flattened nostrils, "I have thought over this issue and have also begun to control a certain advantage that I have yet to fully realize. " Avery gave another series of cries. Voldemort continued over him, "That advantage being that I am able to share thoughts with Potter. And I am also able to send him dreams. And I intend to offer him visions of the Hall of Prophecy as observed by Nagini a few months ago and perhaps, when I have mastered the skill, a task I will be concentrating on for the next two months, send him a vision that will lead him to row 98 in the Hall of Prophecies." The Death Eaters were quiet, not looking at their Master but at Avery, or fixed spots on the walls, tense and shivering. "When that is done. You will all meet him in the Department of Mysteries and take the prophecy from him. You are my most skilled duelists. Do not think I insult you when I send the lot of you to take care of a fifteen year old. I just worry he may not come alone." Voldemort glanced at Snape, "We will try to keep Dumbledore out of this. Right?"

"Of course, Master." Said Severus, pursing his chapped lips, finally looking to the Dark Lord,

"You will not fight, Severus. You, instead, will be responsible for keeping Dumbledore at Hogwarts."

"Yes, my Lord." Snape nodded, glancing at Bellatrix, who was nearly beside herself with joy at being assigned another mission. Voldemort rose from his seat again and waved his wand over the whining Avery. The Death Eaters heard a soft simmering sound while his knee was healed. There was a pause before Voldemort continued,

"The rest of you will prepare yourself for a duel." He did not sit, "Lucius will lead you." Malfoy did not move, but Bellatrix looked from the man on the floor to her Master, eyes wide, her cheeks flushing. Severus smirked at her desperation. Voldemort drew in a breath, not looking at the woman. "Bellatrix will assist him." He said quietly, his stomach still twisting. "I trust that with the two of you at the helm of this operation we will not have to return here." Voldemort tapped Avery's knee once more, breaking each bone in his leg inducing an even louder crunching noise than before. Avery could not scream. Instead, vomit poured from the edges of his mask and gushed onto the carpet. Rodolphus squirmed, hunching over slightly, seeming as if he were about to gag. Bellatrix looked to her troubled husband for a moment, but then looked to her Master, "and no one else will have to be reminded of the importance of our work. It goes without saying, that we will never fail again. Correct?"

"Yes, Master."


	9. A Kiss

"I'm sorry, Bellatrix. No."

Horace Slughorn shifted in his velvet armchair, his hands pressed together, forcing himself to meet the eyes of his former student. She stood by the window, dressed well, with her hair pulled back, her face a skull. Professor Slughorn had lost a little weight since they had last met, but the seams of his robes were still bursting near the buttons. He wore well-loved, maroon slippers and a patterned housecoat that he had tied loosely around his round waist. His white moustache twitched when he gave a sniff.

"Professor." Nearing her old teacher, the witch tried again, in her broken voice, her brow furrowing, "You're sure? We aren't awful like they say we are. The Ministry is just afraid Fudge will lose to The Dark Lord if he attempted to run for office. There is no killing, we just need potions…"

"Bellatrix," The wizard questioned, watching her slowly wring her hands together, "Who? Why? Why can't you get potions from…"

"You are the best. Everyone-everyone knows it." Bellatrix could see his ears flooding with red.

"I just can't work for Him. I could never. I'm sorry," Slughorn stood and waddled across the dimly lit sitting room, running a hand over his bald head and nearly bumping into the coffee table, "Its nothing against you. Bellatrix, it is so good to see you again." He took up her thick cloak that she had hooked on his walnut hat rack earlier. She went to him,

"Professor." Her dark eyes dug into him, "Please. I don't want to sound selfish but I need you to brew me potions. The others, Rodolphus, Rabastan, they need you too. Azkaban…" she took a rasping breath. He lowered the cloak, kneading it in his hands, trying to look away, "Professor, they did h-horrible things to us in that prison." Bella paused to bite at her tongue for a moment, " We need your help." Slughorn lowered his voice,

"Again, can't I help you without receiving the Dark Mark?"

"The Dark Lord needs to be able to contact you."

"Bellatrix," Horace hummed regretfully, glancing at the window "I apologize. It's too risky. The Ministry is already upset with me…"

"My husband will die. Rodolphus is so sick, Professor…" she tried, her voice a butchered viola. From the glossy kitchen just down the hall, the brass teakettle Slughorn had heated on the stove sputtered.

"Can I give you the ingredients to help him?" The teapot from the other room began to whistle shrilly. Horace made no move to go to it.

"It wouldn't be the same. No one could brew it like you. And if the Dark Lord found out I'd been so selfish and I'd not gotten everyone your help. I can't. I need to carry out his specific orders. He made that very, very clear." The witch quieted and her elderly mentor gazed at her with wet, worried eyes,

"Then I'm sorry, my dear."

"All right." She told him over the screaming of the teakettle. "All right."

"You won't you at least have a bit of tea?"

"No, no, no, no…" she sputtered quietly, "I can't." She tugged at one of her curls rather violently,

"Bellatrix…" attempted the wizard, opening his arms to her, still holding her cloak. They embraced and her fingers drummed on both his shoulders. He could feel the sharpness of her spine through her dress. "Be careful, please."

"I'll come visit, Professor." She assured him, knowing that if she saw him again, she would find him with very different intentions. "I promise." She assured him softly.

"Good, good..." He said, nodding a few times as they parted. He handed her the cloak and she took it in her thin fingers. After she had swung the cape around her shoulders, he croaked, "I worry about all of you."

"Again," she said, buttoning the cloak with her jittery fingers, "I'll visit. We're perfectly safe, except for the illness." He thought he saw something strange flicker over her pale face. Something cold.

"I'm glad to hear that." He managed, rubbing his hands together.

Quick, for the first time in his life, to show her out,

Slughorn held the door open for the Death Eater. He smiled at her; she smiled back, showing her grey teeth. Bellatrix, the hem of her winter cloak dragging behind her, stepped out onto the porch, which was lit by an electric lamp and drew her hood.

"Take care."

"You too." She said while he slowly closed the door, "Have a good evening, Professor."

"Likewise, my dear." Horace disappeared inside the house and Bellatrix heard him lock something from within.

Riddle Manor slept under a thin layer of February snow. The sky was clear and the forgotten property was illuminated by the light from the glassy moon. A few cars wove through the streets of the town far below. The wrought iron gates, which were being constricted by cords of grasses, were silhouetted against the gleaming moor that stretched behind the house.

Bellatrix appeared just outside the entrance to the Manor, near the strangled fence, her cloak whipping at her ankles, tossing up the dusty snow. Her face was colored with cold and flecks of white clung to her eyelashes. The witch found her footing on the slippery stones of the path, gripping the icy bars of the fence with a gloved hand. She drew her wand, muttered an incantation and the gate opened with a hiss. She slipped through and locked the gate behind her.

To the left of the house, past the crippled garden, and down the hill, the graveyard sat, shrouded in fog. No clouds obscured the sky, but the cemetery was cloaked in grey. Bellatrix tried not to let her eyes wander towards it; The Dark Lord had contained the dementors there. If the witch would have turned, she could have just made out their looming, crooked shapes hovering in the mist.

Featureless faces all slowly turned towards the witch as she quickened her pace towards the manor. They began to drift to the edge of the graveyard and all stopped to stare after her. Bellatrix felt their focus on her, even at a distance. She quickened her pace towards the dark Manor.

Instead of thinking of the frigid kisses she had received in Azkaban, the fugitive concentrated on a window with a bit of light shining through the boards plastered over it, on the fourth floor. No Death Eater had ventured past the second floor. Beyond the charred staircase leading upwards was only the devastated third floor. It had been burned, Lucius had told her, by Voldemort, a few months ago.

Something stirred out on the milky moor, but the witch continued up the hill. She blinked back the thought of the iron bars, at very top of the metal door, where she used to see the shadows passing by her cell. Bella walked quicker.

The fourth floor was where the Dark Lord spent his time. The candles burning in the window meant that Voldemort was in his private quarters. There was nothing to be scared of. The Dark Lord would probably be sending the boy a nightmare at this hour. She was shaking. He had control. Voldemort was in control and she would never go back. He promised she'd never…Her chest rose and fell. Her hands shook. She knew the dementors were still staring.

The steps of the porch were slippery under her boots. Bellatrix's thoughts did not stop whirling even when she was close enough to the doors of the Manor to lean on them. She fumbled with the glove on her left arm to display her Dark Mark to the patient doorknobs. Her fingers were numb from cold and something else. A cold, venomous fear slowly wove its way through her. There was a dementor behind her, just knew it. No there wasn't. What if… She could feel it. They told her she was mad. Maybe she was, but this one was real. She knew it by the ice in her veins. Bella couldn't turn her head. She froze, staring at her quaking hands through the fog of her own rattling breaths. This always happened outside the house. It wasn't there. What if this was idiotic and she could just go inside. Bella wouldn't move. She wouldn't look.

A hand closed around the back of her cloak and her hair and twisted hard, forcing her to turn. Bellatrix released the cry that had been shivering inside her, screaming into the dementor's mouth that had opened wide before her with all the feeling she had. It was there. It had her. Her body crumpled, terror roping up her legs. The dementor would not release her when she slid down the steps of the porch. It was hungry. She opened her eyes after the pain of her fall and the face was closer, it held her hood tighter, the sky above it not even as close to as dark as the cavern of its mouth while it inhaled.

Dizziness. Bella with blood in her pigtails, shoved Andromeda behind her, against the bookshelves. Uncle picked up the chair at Father's reading desk. She held her sister. Wood, books, pain in her left leg, Andromeda sobbing. Dress stained. Looking up, Mama at the door, silent. Uncle's tough angry fingers around her wrist. Bella shook in the grip of the dementor, eyes dimming. Feeling her blood freezing slowly inside her. He opened the cell with clanking keys. Odd blue eye scraping her. The shine on his cracked lips. Moody. Moody. Moody again. Room spinning. Trying to bite. Skin raw and cold on the damp floor. Too weak. The dementor's lips were at hers and ice slid down her throat, frost began to line her lungs as she coughed up smoldering memories for the creature.

The doors of the manor swung open and pounded against the side of the house. The dementor continued to drain the witch, not looking to the wizard at the top of the stairs. Rodolphus fumbled for his wand in the doorframe. Barefooted, his eyes flashing with either fear or fire, the wizard charged out onto the porch,

"Expecto Patronum…" He choked, seeing his wife twitch, twisted on the stairs. He blinked hard, remembering, "Expecto Patronum." A white light flickered at the tip of the wand for a moment and then evaporated. The dementor seemed to slow, but it refused to stop. Bellatrix kicked weakly, her boots thudding on the pavement. Someone called from inside the house, but Rodolphus concentrated, pointing his shuddering wand at the dementor, "Expecto Patronum!" His voice strained, his throat burned, but from Rodolphus' wand, shone a great, white bear. Gleaming, it charged at the dementor in a blaze, shaking its head, showing its white-hot teeth. The spell shot light all the way to the iron gates of the Manor. Rodolphus' terrified face was illuminated by his patronus, too, and the light of the spell flickered after a moment of shocking brilliance. He dove for his wife, stumbling down the stairs when the glow faded. The bear had gone. On his knees, beside Bella, in the dimness, the Death Eater turned to face the furious, starved dementor that rushed towards him with its arms outstretched.

Bella sat up, her head throbbing and threw herself to the side of the stairs, into the snow, sputtering, crying, shaking, screaming. She held herself listening to someone's whimpering behind her.

Prison, she was back in prison. The Dark Lord had promised. He'd be here. The Dark Lord. Something wooden above her, far above her, shattered. Bellatrix lifted her pale face from the snow to see a shape rocket down from a window of the Manor. She cowered again, thinking it to be another dementor but when she dared to look once more, Voldemort had appeared. His black robes tossing, the wizard struck the creature that held Rodolphus tightly and the dementor gave a hiss from the back of its throat when it slid across the snow, its cloak whipping. Voldemort planted his white feet in the snow and threw his arm out towards the creature, flexing his fingers. Then, with a turn of his wrist, the Dark Lord sent the startled dementor whirling towards the graveyard, tossing up snow around it.

Bellatrix, tears frozen on her cheeks, couldn't bring herself to go towards him. Voldemort looked at her but her eyes were so blurred and dark that she could not see his expression. But she knew his eyes. Her arms weakened. She could see his red eyes, she thought. Bellatrix felt snow and cement against her cheek and her vision clouded.

Rodolphus reached for his wife when she collapsed on the path. He tried to go to her, but choked. Voldemort had administered a swift kick to Rodolphus' side, hissing at his servant,

"You used a Patronus! All the muggles will have seen it." Rodolphus pulled his knees into himself and shrank from his master. Voldemort drew his wand and aimed it at the rash Death Eater, who was quivering in the snow. Rodolphus looked up at the Dark Lord, watching the other wizard's face flicker from emotion to emotion in his fury and then he glanced at the three men who had congregated in the door to watch his torture. But no spell fell upon him. The Dark Lord exhaled through his nose, fog bursting from his nostrils and then turned to go inside. Rodolphus' shoulder fell and he allowed himself to sink to the ground, weakness drenching him. He felt arms grab at him,

"I think I can-can walk." He mumbled, "Wand. Find my wand." And managed to sit up, his vision still at a slant. Severus Snape was bent low, taking Bellatrix into his arms, the hem of his cape falling into her face. Rodolphus opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't. His voice had left with his strength. He watched Pettigrew looking about for his wand and then he began his crawl towards the stairs.

"Accio Rodolphus Lestrange's wand" he heard Pettigrew squeak while he pulled himself up the first step.

Snape moved with the frail witch in his thin arms. He glanced down at the determined fugitive fumbling towards the house.

"Please, Rodolphus, let Wormtail help you. This is not the time to be stubborn" As Severus passed, Rodolphus looked upon Bellatrix's gloved hand that hung like a wilted plant and batted against Snape's side while he ascended into the house. When Pettigrew's hands wrapped beneath Rodolphus boney arms, Lestrange did not protest the help. Together they entered the house behind Severus. Pettigrew shut the door, giving a look to the dementors circling the graveyard down the hill.

Voldemort wasn't waiting in the parlor, but Nagini lurked near the window and she immediately slid to Snape, eyeing him. Severus did not set the witch down. Jugson, a short haired, small nosed man, was extinguishing the fire in the fireplace at the hearth near the table,

"Jugson, what are you doing?"

"The Dark Lord doesn't want anymore light in the house tonight."

"We need a fire…"

"His words, not mine."

"So a heating spell?" Suggested Pettigrew,

"That would dry them but it's not like someone could sustain one of those spells for too long. The cold is in the bones."

"We have to get warm." Rodolphus panted, leaning against the wall, holding his stomach, which was squirming inside of him,

"Of course." Snape said, when Bellatrix gave feeble moan, "So we'll light the fire in the ballroom. In the back. Jugson, you'll get everyone else in the house to shut off their lights?" Jugson nodded and stood as Bellatrix's groaning grew a little louder. S he moved her arm, "Over here, Rodolphus." Said Severus, leading the wizard to the left of the staircase while holding struggling to hold the slowly writhing witch. "Wormtail, get blankets." Pettigrew stepped over Nagini and was gone.

"Why was there a dementor? The Dark Lord said he could contain them all."

"Yes, he said that."

"So why did one attack her?"

"Don't get angry. And don't doubt the Dark Lord." Severus told the wobbling fugitive beside him as they entered a wide hallway with moonlight spilling through the gaps in the drapes over the large windows that lined it. "The dementors do listen to him. But when he sends them out to do work, they must pass from the graveyard to wherever he tells them. So I would assume that this particular dementor had just finished doing something for the Dark Lord."

"Why would he send her out alone?" Rodolphus used the walls to support himself,

"He knows what he's doing." Bellatrix let out a series of breaths through her clenched teeth and both men looked to her contorted face. "You believe that, don't you?"

"Yes." They came to a set of double doors at the end of the cobwebbed corridor. The doorknobs were taped up together.

"Get that, please." Severus asked, glancing behind to see Nagini's bright eyes staring from the parlor. Rodolphus drew his wand and removed the wrapping, "And yes, she could have been harmed, but the Dark Lord went for her. You didn't even have to do anything. The Dark Lord took the risk of sending her out with the confidence that he could take care of anything that went wrong. And he was right in thinking that."

"Alohamora." Rodolphus chattered, his body still frozen from the dementor. The doors opened, a veil of dust falling as they did. Beyond was darkness and a stench. The air that swept out of the ballroom smelled of the moors and wood and something small that had probably curled up in a corner to die a few months ago. When their eyes adjusted, they could make out a few things in the room,

"Light the fireplace." Instructed Severus, stepping further inside with the witch. Rodolphus pointed to the far left side of the room, "No one will see it here. The windows face the moor."

"Incendio." The fireplace filled with flames in a rush of wind. The golden light flowed over the hearth and spilled across the floor. The floor was white, like the snowy earth outside. Rodolphus thought nothing of it, until he looked down at where Snape had walked. He left footprints. The floor was glossed in grey dust that had slept in the ballroom for years. Rodolphus felt it between his toes now. It lay almost a centimeter thick. Snape stopped to look at it too, his lip curling.

"Disgusting." He commented, "Perhaps you can clear a bit of it near the fire." Severus readjusted the dazed witch in his arms with a snort.

The light of the fire exposed more of the enormous ballroom. A long table, which could have seated sixty people, was on its side, pushed up against the back wall, to the right side of the door. Lining the edges of the room were drapes that wrinkled at the hem and stretched up to the part of the ceiling still clouded in blackness.

Rodolphus continued after the professor, kicking up the dust. When at last he could lean against the wall beside the fireplace, he pointed his wand at the floor. Before he performed the spell, Snape turned away, shielding Bellatrix. Rodolphus waved the wand, murmuring. The dust before the hearth was pushed away as if by a wind. A circle of a dull wood shone in the firelight. Snape's cloak was covered in grey flecks and when he faced the fire again, more dust flew from him. Exhaling, he set Bellatrix down in the center of the space Rodolphus had cleared. The light flickered over her ghostly face, shadows brushing her closed eyelids and the gold glow showing the gleaming wetness on her sunken cheeks. Her damp hair was still pinned up, but half of it had fallen from its place.

Snape flicked his wand this way and that, pointing to Rodolphus' robes. A jet of hot air brushed over the fugitive, drying most of the snow. He felt a little better.

"Thanks." Rodolphus said, slowly kneeling by his wife. He did not immediately feel the warmth from the fire, as he had expected. It took a while to feel heat again after a dementor's kiss. He was used to it, though. Rodolphus looked to his wife and heard Snape muttering the same incantation. A gust of hot air blew a stray curl from her thin face. The tears left her eyelashes. Rodolphus looked up at Snape, "Teach me?"

"Oh, it would take too long for you to master the technique. And I wouldn't try to teach you in this state." Severus explained. "You'll feel the fire soon." Snape looked over to the door. Footsteps entered the ballroom. Wormtail appeared in the light of the fire, holding one more blanket than Snape would have thought his stubby arms could possibly contain.

"Are they staying down here for the evening?"

"I would think so."

"Do I need to watch them?"

"Does he?" asked Snape,

"No." Rodolphus said, frowning, turning with a groan, to try to regain feeling in his fingers. He reached out towards the flickering fire.

"All right. Set those down here, Wormtail." Severus motioned for the other wizard to wade through the sea of dust. While Wormtail began laying out the quilts, Snape gingerly lifted Bellatrix again to set her down on a blanket. He wrapped her in the bedding.

"Here." Wormtail gave the fugitive a quilt that Rodolphus was not familiar with. It was aging, spotted with flowers, and probably from the guest bedrooms on the second floor. The four cotton sheets were yellowing. Rodolphus draped the blanket over his shaking shoulders,

"If there is an emergency," Severus explained, rising to his full height after being sure the shuddering Bellatrix would be comfortable, "Rodolphus, you must touch your mark. Don't be rash. You seem to be ashamed to ask for assistance. The pair of you cannot afford your stubbornness. So just…"

"I know." The fugitive said absently, staring at the part of the flames that blazed violet, just beneath the logs.

"Are you all right for us to go?" Snape asked,

"Yes."

"Do you need something to eat?"

"No."

"All right. I will speak to the Dark Lord about this. If something has changed, I will come and tell you."

Rodolphus let his shoulders sag when he heard the two other men retreating back through the dust. He concentrated on how the flames licked at the wood, how it whispered to itself, and how the shadows made one of the charred logs resting on the iron grate look like Nagini. And the light illuminated the sooty bricks in the shaft of the chimney, burning away cobwebs that clung to the corners.

"Will she be all right?" Questioned Severus, his smooth voice echoing from the door.

"Yes." Rodolphus replied, trying to speak as loudly as his vocal chords would allow. And the door closed with a reverberating click click click click…

The death eater was left with the panting of the fire and the slow, ragged breaths of his wife. Rodolphus turned, the hardness of the floor biting his knees, and dragged himself to the witch. Behind their dark lids, Bella's eyes flicked back and forth. The most miniscule moan that escaped from behind her teeth proved she slept uneasily. Unconscious, Bellatrix shivered violently before her husband in the wavering light of the fire.

The fugitive sat for longer than he could have guessed, watching the light flutter across his wife's sleeping form. The darkness engulfed the silent, paralyzed pair. And then Rodolphus felt it. The heat prickled at his nose and cheeks and touched the edges of his ear that was closest to the flames.

Rodolphus took a breath and reached for her hair. The man slowly began removing the pins that held up her curls with shaking fingers. All her tendrils soon lay fanned and matted around her head. Her husband stared at her, studying the new curves in her face after Azkaban. He still recognized her lips. As thin and chapped as they had become, the arch of them had not mutated.

He bent low, bringing his blanket with him while he shifted, and reached a feeble hand under the edge of the quilt that Snape had draped over the witch. He found her shivering, ridged shoulder. The fabric of her dress was smooth when he slid his hand down to her wrist. He took her left hand beneath the sheets and rubbed it sloppily between his palms, trying to reawaken her fingers. Rodolphus moved his hands against hers until he could feel warmth in her pale skin

Bella's hand might have twitched in his grasp. She released a small noise and his well-intentioned, thin hands fell still. Suddenly Rodolphus felt his blood start to boil and his chest slowly soak in more heat from the fireplace. He drew in a grating breath and released his wife's hand. He leaned down, watching her face, and laid down, abandoning the blanket on his back to carefully slip beneath the sheets next to his freezing wife.

It was how it was every night. They didn't speak. They just shared warmth. They had moved their cots together after remembering what was expected of them fifteen years ago. They had done what was expected in their youth. It was habit. But Rodolphus wanted her to want his arms around her again, for any reason at all, and he dared to take the shivering witch close to him.

Even through the fabric of her dress, her frame was cold against his chest, but he held her tightly regardless. The skin on her neck cooled the place where the fire had warmed his cheeks. She was fragile. He remembered a powerful witch, but did not like this delicate one any less. She smelled the same, he noticed, when he touched his nose behind her ear. Bellatrix smelled like salt and cream and cinnamon that some how mixed together perfectly.

Rodolphus felt his insides burn, stinging after being frozen. And as he gazed at Bellatrix, his shallow breaths nearly ceased. All of the things he had bottled within him, the things he had wanted to tell her for fifteen years, his frustrations with her, his unexplainable need for her, seemed, now, to be bubbling in his lungs, clogging his throat, stopping his breathing. His fingers timidly brushed her ribs. They were the grates of an iron vent, each bone defined even beneath her thick robes. His tentative hand stopped its climb and found his jaw tight. He lifted his head to glance at her unopened eyes and watched her still face. Something at the center of his chest was slowly constricting his heart, squeezing hard, making the blood ripple faster though him.

The ballroom watched the wizards silently. Rodolphus trailed his unrequited fingers from Bellatrix's sharp rib to her breast. His skeleton fingers were terrified, gentle, desperate…

Bellatrix moved. Rodolphus froze. She gave a hiss. He recoiled. The witch blinked, her dark eyes dazed when she awoke completely. She didn't even look at her husband, who knelt near her wringing his hands together. Had she realized he was near her? Would she hate him? Did she even notice?

The fire muttered to itself when the pair fell motionless. Bella drew in a deep breath and just stared up at the blackness of the ceiling until she managed to drone softly,

"Where is this?" Her voice was lodged deep in her throat. Rodolphus, relieved, was swiftly wrapping himself in his own blanket again when he replied,

"The ballroom."

"Oh." She slowly looked his direction, but gazed off at where the fingers of firelight ended. With a weary sigh, Bella shifted under the blankets, wetting her lips with her lethargic tongue, and then went back to staring upwards. Rodolphus studied the dust on the floor, squeezing his toes together, "It's really cold."

"Yes. But it will get better." They sat in stillness for a few more moments until Bellatrix took in a sharp breath. Rodolphus finally looked at her again, worried wrinkles carved in his brow, "What?"

"I want to-to sleep." She chattered

"So, sleep."

"I want to sleep for days, but…"

"Hm…"

"but I can't shut my eyes." She explained robotically, eyes rosy and wet,

"I know." He did. In Azkaban, after a long dementor's kiss, he had wanted to lie there, nod off, and wake up when the pain was gone. But when he drifted off, permitted his eyes to close, sometimes even when he blinked, he'd see what the dementor had made him see. Those stinging, cruel, bleeding, torturous thoughts that flooded his mind when those rotting lips were on his. He watched his wife battle her drowsiness, focusing on some fixed point in the gloom above her.

"Want food?" he rumbled quietly,

"No."

"All right." He said, watching her chest rise beneath the blankets when she drew in a deep breath through her nose,

"I can't believe I'm like this again." She exhaled,

"Hm?"

"I was so…" her voice disappeared within her and her eyes wandered to the fire,

"What?"

"I never wanted to feel like this ever, ever, ever…" She babbled monotonously,

"Me neither…" he was ignored,

"…ever again. And this bloody cold…it's in me again. My bones…." Her speech was slow, her eyes lifeless, her familiar lips dragged into a frown.

"Face the fire."

"It won't help."

"Think about good things."

"What is there to think about…" she paused and then something flickered in her eyes for a moment, "Where is the Dark Lord?"

"I don't know."

"What?" Her tone wavered,

"I mean, he's in the house."

"Can I see him? I want to see him…"

"Not now. Rest."

"He's in the house?" She spoke quicker, finally,

"Yes." Rodolphus tried to divert her attention, "Do you feel the fire yet?"

"He's somewhere here..."she assured herself, pulling at the tips of her curls,

"Are you warmer?" he asked and she answered,

"No." Bellatrix tried to picture the place she would always kiss on the hem of her Master's robes and Rodolphus thought only of how the fabric of Bellatrix's favorite corset felt in 1976 when they lived in that apartment just outside Paris.

"Why don't we get close to each other?" The wizard dared. When his wife didn't reply, he went to her again. Just as he went to slide beside her, however, she gave a shrill whine, her mouth finding a disgusted grimace,

"No."

"Please? It helps…" His thin fingers brushed her arm and she hissed,

"No. No. Don't touch me. No."

"Why?" He demanded,

"No. Just…" Bellatrix had sat up and swathed herself in the sheets, staring into the fire, her movements still lazy. Silence. He kept his distance, watching her silhouette shudder at the edge of the hearth. She was blocking the warmth. Rodolphus could feel the cold sliding up his arms again.

"You're in the way of the heat." She didn't move. He tried again, "Move over a little."

"I need it more than you." Bellatrix droned, not looking at him,

"Really."

"Yes." Every reply was soaked in monotone.

"Really."

"It had me longer than it had you."

"We spent the same…" he cleared his throbbing throat, "-the same amount of time in Azkaban."

"You don't need it." She craned her neck, slowly to glare at him with her wet eyes,

"I have flashbacks, too." He growled, staring at her, "And I'm not as well as you are." She didn't reply. Bella just stared numbly at her complaining husband, "No one is. Haven't you noticed," he coughed, "you're the only one who can walk down stairs without holding the railing? The only one the Dark Lord could ever ask to leave the house…"

"So? Just because I'm a witch doesn't mean I can't be stronger than you…"

"I'm not saying that. I'm saying it's unfair…"

"All right…" She muttered, turning back to the flames,

"…it's unfair that Snape gives you more of that potion than the rest of us."

"What?"

"He does." Rodolphus licked his mutilated lips,

"No."

"Yes. And I asked him about it. He'll do it this week too."

"No."

"He told me why, too. Said it was the Dark Lord's order. To give you a bit more than the rest of us. So move over and let me get warm, too. I hurt just as bad as you."

"No."

"It's cold and I'm sicker…"

"No. If the Dark Lord wants me well more than he wants you well then why should I let you nearer to the fire?"

"What? Why are we even fighting…"

"If he wants me to get well faster, then he wants me to get well faster. You said it yourself. Don't question why…" he could hear some fire swelling in her throat again. Her speech became a little quicker,

"I never questioned. I just said it was unfair."

"So what if it is."

"I don't have a problem with-with the Dark Lord seeking to heal you first,. While it may be frustrating, I couldn't understand why, so I won't question him…And I-I'm just observing, Bellatrix…" his tongue felt tired and his voice had faded to a croaked whisper,

"You're complaining. Just stop." His wife accused,

"Because I want to get well and first, I want to get warmer…" He moved towards her and went to shove her shoulder, "Can you please move, Bellatrix?" She remained; shoulders hunched, hands wrapped around herself within the blankets, even when he tugged at her shoulder, "Bellatrix if you don't want to be my," he coughed again, this time into the crease of his arm, "be my wife, then can you at least be an ally?" She didn't reply, "Let's help each other. This is ridiculous." He took in a breath, "Don't let Azkaban win."

"What?" There was venom in her tone, but he persisted,

"Don't let it ruin you, or change you…"

"Well it has changed me. Look at me."

"I have, and I'll look again if you'll turn and face me, but I don't mean-I don't mean physically." His weakened voice wavered,

"It has changed me."

"Don't let it continue to…"

"Do you think I can forget it?"

"Do you think I can?" He rasped, "No. We may never, but Bellatrix…"

"What?"

"I don't know…" Rodolphus' gaze fell down the side of her face before he turned away from his wife,

"What do you want?" she had lifted her head, but he didn't see, "You must want something or you wouldn't be talking like this. You don't care that much about me…"

"You can keep thinking that." He uttered from behind her,

"I will."

Bellatrix could feel the heat of the fire on her nose, now and beneath the blankets, she could finally feel the pain in her upper arm where she had been digging her nails deep into her skin for the majority of the conversation. Drawing her always-shaking hand from the sheets, she gazed at the dark wetness under her nails and how the bit of blood glinted in the firelight.

"What do you have against me, Bellatrix?" came her husband's voice. She paused before replying,

"Nothing."

"Then come here, or let me sit by you." She heard him moving, but with the hair hanging in her face, she couldn't glance at him while he neared her again. It was warmer, like he had said, when Rodolphus sat by her. He draped another blanket around the both of them, hitting her shoulder accidentally as he did.

She finally looked him in the face. The gold light of the fire made his pale skin look sicker. His chin was dotted with the promise of his beard returning and his hair was cut shorter than it had ever been, so more of his face was revealed. He had found more wrinkles on his forehead. The shadows that splashed on his neck were dark,

"What do you want?" she asked him again,

"Honestly?"

"Yes, or I'll read your mind."

"I want you to treat me like you did before Azkaban."

"Some things don't matter as much to me anymore."

"I never meant much to you at all."

"Some things mean even less, now, then…" she told him coldly, staring at him. He persisted,

"We are human, Bellatrix and look at us, no one will want us."

"I can tolerate you. I will never want you." She gave a cruel, tiny laugh,

"I don't expect you to…never did." His voice was nearly spent, "But you want someone close to you."

"Not you." Her lips curved down in a scowl,

"I know. But I am what you have and you are what I have. We'll help each other." He looked at her, trying to search her gaunt face for signs of the effect of his suggestions. Bellatrix's eyes were blank. Was she considering? But before Rodolphus could decipher how she felt, his wife turned her face back to the fire.

Why didn't he just take her? Why didn't he just force her. If she was being difficult and didn't give a damn about him...Rodolphus blinked, running a skeleton hand through his thin hair, trying to press those thoughts deep down into the back of his mind. He would not let Azkaban reduce him to that. He took a breath,

"Bellatrix?" His wisp of a voice seemed so small in the sprawling darkness of the ballroom. A minute crawled by, and then another and then Rodolphus rested his head on his wife's shoulder. He felt the muscles in her arm wind tight beneath his ear, but she did not swat him away. Rodolphus' neck was just beginning to hurt after a moment or two, from bending at such an odd angle, but he didn't have the courage to move. He focused on heartbeat he heard in his head. Whether it was his own or his wife's he could not tell, but the pulse was growing fast. And then he felt her shift.

He lifted his head immediately. She didn't look at him, but she was fidgeting with the blankets around her, her hair veiling her face. In the flickering light that decorated her shuddering frame with shadows, Bellatrix leaned towards Rodolphus and put her cheek to his nervous chest. He felt her confusing hand just above his knee and he dared to take her in his arms, her head lolling on his arm. He felt her breath on his shoulder and he swallowed hard.

They eventually found themselves face to face, sitting there with the fire whispering about them. Bellatrix saw her husband's eyes close. There was sweat in the crease of his eyelids, turned to gold powder by the light. It looked odd on his mutilated face,

"Do you expect me to kiss you?" Bellatrix exhaled icily just before he took a weak handful of her and drew her towards him. Their frozen lips scraped together for an instant. The witch and wizard parted. Bellatrix's eyes were still unfocused, jaw slackened, and Rodolphus gazed down at the shadows that were pooling in her mouth. He pressed his frigid mouth to hers again, feeling her teeth chatter behind her thin lips.


	10. Rabastan

Rodolphus sat on his cot, a book open on his lap, his chipped wand raised. Looking up, he mumbled a spell and furrowed his brow. He stared hard at the small, empty birdcage at the far side of the room. With a flick of his wand, he severed it neatly in two. The metal fell to the wood floor with a crash, dust flying. Rodolphus smiled with yellow teeth.

His brother, Rabastan, awoke. He was still in bed with the fever he had developed after the escape. He muttered something to his brother, turning under the pale, sweaty sheets.

"Do that somewhere else…"

"My leg hurts. I don't want to."

"Well I…" he trailed off, bringing the quilt over his nose. Rodolphus gave another glance to the birdcage and licked his finger to turn a page in his book. The counter curse would be in the next paragraph…

"Rodolphus." A voice called from the doorway. Rodolphus looked up from memorizing to see Peter Pettigrew just outside the room. He hadn't shaved and lips were chapped,

"What?"

"Bring him." He nodded to the man on the far side of the room. "You need to come into the parlor."

"I didn't feel my mark burn…"

"It's not the Dark Lord. It's your brother."

"My brother is…" He motioned to the cot where Rabastan shivered,

"No he…Please, just go down there." Pettigrew pursed his lips and turned to go when Rodolphus stood to wake his brother.

Bellatrix was already seated on a sofa when the two wizards descended into the parlor. Rodolphus, helping his brother down the stairs, viewed the scene below. A stout woman, with white hair, and a powdered face wrung her hands at the base of the stairs, next to Severus Snape who loomed over a gentleman, who looked remarkably familiar. The man was seated in a chair, a pensieve in his lap. He looked dazed, his mouth open, his eyes lazily looking from person to person. The wizard in the chair had stringy, brown hair, a curved nose that made him look like a weasel, thin lips, and a sharp chin. Snape had the tip of his wand pressed to the man's temple and was whispering something. The man shook for a moment and then blinked hard, looking even dizzier than before, his eyes drooping. When the woman with white hair saw Rodolphus and Rabastan, her glossy eyes brightened.

"What's this?" Rodolphus asked quickly, helping his brother to balance as they finished their descent. He found himself unable to take his eyes off of the man in the chair.

"Your brother." Severus answered, concentrating on the spells he was casting, not caring to look up at Rodolphus.

"What…"

"The first night we were here," Bellatrix said from the couch, leaning back, "a few men had forgotten their identities entirely. Well one of them was Rabastan…"

"And I had to choose which one I thought…" Rodolphus marveled, still supporting the ill wizard at his side.

"And you chose wrong." Bellatrix explained tartly, licking her chapped lips.

"Yes," Snape affirmed, "regrettably. And it wasn't until he coughed up some strange memory about his childhood that Ms. Dolohov realized that the man she had been caring for was not her brother." Ms. Dolohov was staring at her feverish brother, but she did not near him,

"So this is Antonin…" Rodolphus remarked, glancing at the shuddering wizard who gripped his arm tight,

"Yes."

"What?" Antonin Dolohov questioned groggily, staring up at Rodolphus,

"I didn't…" began the woman in a timid voice, "I mean I thought Azkaban had just changed him so much…"

"What are you doing to him?" Interrupted Rodolphus, walking with Antonin to where Rabastan Lestrange sat with his head lolling,

"Erasing the memories of Dolohov's life that were fed to him. I'll have to do the same to Antonin. They'll begin over again, going through their penesives…"

"Should I sit him down?" Rodolphus asked, his mind spinning,

"Yes," instructed Snape, drawing his wand away from Rabastan's forehead, "across from Bellatrix. The armchair." Ms. Dolohov followed, dragging her feet, glancing at the staircase when she turned. Now that Rodolphus looked, Antonin was much different looking than his brother. Antonin was taller, with more sagging muscles. His face was different, too. Antonin's eyes were beady and wet while Rabastan's were rounder, darker, like his. Both of the men did have very similar texture to their hair.

"What? What…" Antonin moaned, clutching Rodolphus' arm even tighter, "No…What…I'm not…"

"Sit down." Rodolphus said when Antonin swatted his arm weakly. He forced the other wizard into the chair,

"Not so rough with him!" Squeaked his elderly sister. Rodolphus passed her a look and she added, "Please."

When Antonin sat down, Snape immediately went to work. Ms. Dolohov stood before her brother, watching his twisted face slacken under the influence of the numbing spells. Bellatrix didn't like being crowded. She stood from her seat and moved around the smaller witch.

Bellatrix strode towards the thin chair that her brother-in-law was sagging in. Rabastan was, of course, disoriented. His tongue did a lazy lap around the inside of his mouth and his dark eyes slowly soaked her in. In his lethargy, his twig fingers on his left hand drummed rapidly against the edge of the pensive. She remembered that about him; the tremors.

"I'll have him start." She said to Snape. Without waiting for permission, the witch took the back of her brother-in-law's hair and slowly pushed his head towards the bowl in his lap. He tensed a little, straining, resisting, but eventually, his scrawny form doubled in the chair and his face disappeared beneath the water.

"You could at least make him comfortable…" Rodolphus reprimanded, limping to his wife and brother after exchanging a few words with Dolohov's sister.

"He won't remember. He won't care." A little laugh escaped her. She didn't look at her husband,

"I can't believe I didn't realize…"

"I can." Bella said simply, going to sit on the stairs. Rodolphus frowned, gazing at the back of Rabastan's head, "You barely knew who you were for a few weeks. How can you expect yourself to have recognized everyone else…"

Ms. Dolohov yelped from across the room. Rodolphus looked up swiftly. Bellatrix did, too. Her wand was in her hand immediately. Snape didn't break concentration from the spell,

"What?" Bellatrix rasped as finally Snape looked up. Ms. Dolohov jumped up, faster than anyone else thought she could have, to kneel on the sofa, her mouth covered with her hands, staring at the stairs. "What?" Bellatrix whipped around. Nagini was slipping slowly down the steps. Bellatrix pocketed her wand.

"That's the Dark Lord's snake." Severus explained, returning to his work, "It's all right." Bellatrix was releasing chattering chuckles through their crooked teeth at the older witch's panic,

"I know it's His." She uttered, not moving from her place on the couch. Bellatrix watched the shining serpent glide past her, not even looking at her, while Rodolphus noted,

"Ms. Dolohov, she won't hurt you."

"But it's his. He is in the house then…"

"Of course." Said Bellatrix with a fluttering smile, looking directly at Ms. Dolohov while Nagini circled the chair Rabastan sat in, flicking her black tongue. The older witch stared at the snake while her face lost its redness. They all watched the serpent slink around Rodolphus' legs, climb the stairs again, and then disappear behind the banister on the second floor.

Nagini moved quickly down the corridor, staying close to the wall, the loose floorboards silent under her. She rounded a corner, finding the main stairs to the third and fourth floor before her. The snake lifted her head and began her ascent. These steps were very unlike those leading up from the parlor to the first floor. These were spiraling and steeper, and halfway up the staircase the carpet upon them faded to grey, then to black. Nagini felt the ash on her belly and her tongue tasted ancient smoke when she lapped up the air.

The third floor stretched out before her. It was the brightest place in the entire Manor during the days. The chilly March sunlight gushed through the gaping hole that sat on the West side of the house. Everything was overturned here. The floor had been left untouched for years and the tape strung around the legs of upside down tables and shattered china cabinets had been painted with dust over the years. Nagini stayed to the side of the space, trying to avoid looking into the white light. There was a path through the rubble where two distinct tracks could be seen in the old ash, the feet of two men and the long running tracks of the snake.

The serpent hurried through the third floor, repulsed by the stench of all the rotting muggle things. She was relieved to smell the fresh magic wafting from the fourth floor when she scaled the final staircase. Nagini slunk down the long hall, passing locked door after locked door, her head twitching to the side when she smelled a rat in one of the boarded up chambers, and then continuing to the second to last room in the corridor.

"_What is it_?" Her master asked her in Parseltongue when she entered. The room was bright with the violently trembling light of all the candles lit there.

Lord Voldemort was staring up at the ceiling, his white neck stretching, his head resting back in his chair. He had turned the seat away from his desk at an angle, to face the shuttered bay window.

"_An interesting situation downstairs." _Nagini told him, quickly moving to slither over his bare feet, "_Rodolphus Lestrange mistook Dolohov to be his brother the night that they returned. Dolohov's sister had been caring for Rabastan Lestrange until now. She's just brought him. Severus is repairing their memories…"_

_ "Is it all sorted out?"_

_ "Yes."_

_ "Will they be strong enough to relearn their dueling skills tomorrow?"  
"I don't know…" _Nagini climbed up onto the Dark Lord's stretching, pristine desk, gently crushing a few of his papers with her soft belly. She reprimanded him, _"You are not working."_

_ "I am not well, Nagini. I do not want to attempt to work and find myself slower witted than I have to be. This must be done precisely…"_

_ "What is wrong, exactly?" _

_ "My head. My stomach…It's this new body."_

_ "What? It's perfect. Nothing is wrong with it." _Nagini insisted, slinking around the two candles he was using as paperweights. The orange light brought a shuddering gleam to her eyes, turning them scarlet,

_ "Something is. I think Wormtail did something wrong."_

_ 'He followed it exactly."_

_ "I don't know…." _Voldemort shifted, finally looking at the snake on the desk, _"I cannot think clearly."_ His eyes were dim with tired streaks beneath them.

_"Clearly." _The snake said nastily.

"_This is not apathy, this is illness, Nagini, do not get short with me."_

_ "Ill or not, you need to work. Would Albus Dumbledore wait for illness to pass?"_ Suddenly, with a wave of her Master's hand, the snake flipped from the desk and tumbled to the carpet along with two candles. She lashed around and hissed. Part of the carpet was starting to burn, _"I am trying to help!"_ He scoffed, silencing the flames with a twitch of his thumb and she reared back, _"Control yourself. Control your new body."_ Nagini spat up at him. Their eyes flashed,

"_I am trying." _The Dark Lord turned and sat down. Nagini took in a breath through her nostrils and moved to him again, ducking under the darkness of the desk. She carefully climbed up his legs and wrapped around the back of the chair. Nagini rested her chin on her master's shoulder, her head rising and falling when he took in a long breath,

"_Don't think about her…" _She whispered to him, pushing against his neck. "_You need nothing from her."_

Voldemort shifted in his chair, pressing two fingers to his mouth, his brow wrinkling,

"_The details…"_

_ "About her?"_

_ "Yes, the details about her. Her eyes. They are different than I recall. What if she is under a curse, or what if this is not Bellatrix Lestrange at all but she…"_

_ "You are speaking nonsense. You cannot be paranoid about her loyalties. She is arguably the most faithful. You know that. If you cannot trust her, you cannot trust a soul…"_

_ "This is ridiculous."_

"_Then perhaps distraction. Find one." _ Nagini urged, lifting her head and peering around the room.

"_Yes_." Voldemort twisted, jostling his pet and immediately reached for a thick piece of paper on his desk. It was bent at two of the corners and a large crease ran up the center of it. _"How will Lucius get all of them to the chamber…"_

_ "When I spied there I found nothing with an entrance from the outside…" _Nagini said, sliding a ways down her Master's arm to eye over the floor plan he clutched.

_ "There is no where to hide well for an entire day_..." The hand-drawn map of the Department of Mysteries was marked upby Lucius Malfoy's swooping emerald pen strokes.

"_You need all of them?"_

"_Yes, I must have every single one of them that I selected go…"_

_ "Why not go yourself? I will tell you again," _Nagini said, "_Cornelius Fudge will not…"_

"_I will not risk it. Potter will not come alone. If someone more credible were to see me alive…"_

_ "But you only have a single chance at obtaining the prophecy, why not go yourself…"_

_ "I do not want to duel Potter without hearing the prophesy…What happened in June was due to my over eagerness. There are far too many forces between us that I have yet to decipher to risk facing him myself again. Now is not the time…"_

_ "He is a child…"_

_ "He is unskilled, yes, Nagini. And everyone knows that it is not by his efforts or his own power that he has evaded his death so many times. He is a perfectly ordinary wizard who has been blessed with protection he does not deserve. I will kill him cleanly and efficiently when I do kill him. However, now is not the time, as I've told you again and again. I cannot afford another surprise and I certainly can not afford to evoke another Priori Incantantum when the prophecy might warn me about how to avoid such a pointless thing." _He let his eyes rove over the map, "_But where do they wait for him..." _his thin lip curled and he leaned back, setting the map down,

"_I think you should be worrying about how to lure the boy there and just let Lucius sort out how to get the others into the Hall of Prophecy…"_

_ "Just let him." _Voldemort lightly shook Nagini from his arm with a scoff. She coiled up at the feet of the desk, gazing up at him. _"Nagini I chose him to carry out the plan, not design it…"_

_ "He works there…"_

_ "And he works for me. I don't care if he knows the building. I cannot trust him with this…I could never let any of them create…"_ He paused, eyes stopping on the page, _"Lucius will be too conservative about it. Perhaps I should have chosen someone more aggressive and someone more aggressive alone to lead them so there would be no unneeded stalling... Do you think she could lead them herself? She's improved…"_

_ "Bellatrix is unstable."_

_ "She's improving."_

_ "It would be a risk. You cannot afford it."_

_ "Before it would not have been a question. She would lead them and it would go well…"_

_ "It is not 'before' any longer, it is now…" _Nagini whispered intensely and watched as the Dark Lord's scarlet eyes trailed away,

_ "_And things are quite different_…"_

_"Rodolphus!" A lanky boy with a sharp face hurried onto the bridge. His robes fluttered behind him and his tie blew up and over his shoulder, "Hey! Rodophus!" The wooden beams grunted beneath his swift steps. His brother, up ahead, turned and the wind that swept up from the crevice below blew into his thick dark hair. _

_ "What?" _ _Rodolphus asked in a deep voice, which was, like the other boy's, laced with the ghost of a French accent. He leaned on the railing until his brother caught him,_

_"Did you get one?" Rabastan produced a wrinkled, white envelope from inside his pocket,_

_ "Of course I got one." _

_ "Will you do it then? Should I? Should we?"_

_ "Bellatrix supposes I should…" Rodolphus started to walk across the suspended, mossy bridge again. His leaner brother followed quickly,_

_ "So you will?" _

_ "That doesn't mean I will…"_

_ "Usually does." Rabastan frowned a little,_

_ "For Merlin's sake. Just because she wants me to doesn't mean I'll do it. She doesn't have me on a leash. And why are you bothering me about this, it's just a club. If I join I join, if I don't I don't."_

_ "Well, I won't join if you don't."_

_ "Oh…" Rodolphus drawled sarcastically, drawing the collar of his cloak tighter around his neck to expel the October chill, "So I'm girlish if Bellatrix is what sways my decisions and you're not girlish at all for not wanting to do something on your own."_ _Rabastan's brow furrowed,_

_ "Well since I didn't make the quidditch team I thought this was something we could do together."_

_ "Without Bellatrix." Rodolphus noted,_

_ "Maybe."_

_ "Did you even talk to Uncle about this Tom Riddle guy. The sponsor?"_

_ "No and I don't think we should. He'd never let us."_

"_What the hell!" Rabastan barked, clutching his arm, losing his balance as his brother, with the screaming Bellatrix in tow, shouldered past him and up the stairs. He watched the trail of her dark dress disappear as she was yanked up the stairs. Rabastan heard a door on the first floor splinter and clatter to the ground. His stomach twisted and he aimed his wand at the stairs and the darkness below that was suddenly broken by the light of an auror's wand. With a snap of his wrist, Rabastan set fire to the steps. The wood blazed yellow and sparks flew up in his face. He heard the shouts of the wizards below, but didn't care to listen. _

_ Rabastan ducked back into the bedroom, pushing Barty towards the back corner of the room where the bleeding, shuddering Longbottoms were babbling. The child was on the floor wailing. Rabastan stepped over the infant and dragged Barty, who had tears flying from his eyes, behind the crib. He threw a spell at the window, but it merely glowed blue and remained as it was._

_ "Damn it! Damn it!" Rabastan panted while Barty wailed,_

_ "Break it! Open it…"_

_ "They have the house sealed off! I can't fucking break it!" Rabastan pushed Barty a little ways away from him, "Hold your wand up. Let's go. We can beat them. Hold up your wand you little shit! " He flicked his wrist and the door slammed shut, locking itself. Barty's breath was rapid as he stood shaking, leaning up against the wall, murmuring things, "Hold up the woman." _

_ "What?"_

_ "Hold her up in front of you. She's still alive. They won't kill you if you've got her." _

_ "No…" Rabastan ignored the boy and lifted the slobbering Frank Longbottom. He held the quaking man near to him with his left arm. He pointed his wand at the door. Rabastan glanced at Barty while they boy lifted up Longbottom's wife horridly and then concentrated on the sounds from below. They had finished with the fire. They were outside the door. Rabastan drew in a breath when he heard one of them shout,_

_ "Bombarda!" The door blasted away, a piece of it shooting across the room and hitting Frank Longbottom's side. _

_ "Avada Kedavra!" Rabastan heard the small boy beside him shout…._

_ Flowers, violet ones, just like Mrs. Black had wanted. They were everywhere, up the pillars, covering the tables, floating in arrangements in the air. The money left by Cygnus Black's death was already going to waste. He watched the backs of the bride and groom as they strode down the aisle, away from him, hand in hand. Bellatrix was dressed in a lavish dress of the pearliest shade of white with long sleeves that her mother had sewn on. As she walked down the aisle drawn close to her new husband, she seemed to have a bit of trouble lifting the folds upon folds upon folds of lace. Rabastan couldn't help but chuckle at how pristine she looked._

_ Narcissa was wailing when he took her arm to follow the couple. Her makeup had been nothing short of devastated over the course of the ceremony. Still, Rabastan thought she looked darling, even when she cried and her proud face scrunched up. As they walked he smiled at her and offered his handkerchief. She took it and dabbed her eyes. Rabastan turned over his shoulder to glance at Lucius, who had an appropriate smile sketched on his face as usual. Lucius walked behind Rabastan with Adele Duchossois, Rabastan's second cousin who understood English but could only speak French. _

_ "…happy!" sputtered Narcissa, smiling, her lips wet with tears, "After all this mess…" It was the first time in weeks anyone in her family had worn color. The moment they crossed from the stretching patio into the gardens Narcissa pressed Rabastan's handkerchief into his hand and swept to Lucius, who embraced her accordingly. Adele stood aside, holding one arm across her chest and shifting her weight. _

_ "Excusez-la." Rabastan apologized to Adele, who merely raised her eyebrows quickly and offered a little smile, "_Elle est excitée"

"C'est evident" _Adele answered tartly,_

_ "Where's Bella?" Narcissa said with bright eyes, pulling away from her future husband. Lucius answered,_

_ "Perhaps you should wait a moment…"_

_ "Oh, I can't. I simply can't…" Rabastan spotted the hem of Bellatrix's white dress curling around one of the well-groomed hedges, but said nothing for his brother's sake. Adele, however, saw too and pointed with a slender finger,_

_ "Là" the dark haired witch revealed and Narcissa whirled, her deep purple skirts swishing. Rabastan pursed his lips and dared to look after the blonde. She interrupted a kiss, of course, that Rodolphus was administering to his new wife's bitter lips. __Bellatrix turned quickly to let her sister hold her. Rodolphus found Rabastan's eyes. Rabastan nodded and the brothers exchanged stale smiles from across the grass. Adele had already left Lucius' side to go blush and stand very close to her dear cousin Laurent. Lucius was glad to have Rabastan return to him. The blonde haired wizard moved to loosen his tie, but restrained himself. _

_ "This is the first moment I am perfectly content with the fact that our betrothal was annulled. In this instant I am actually at peace with the idea that it is Rodolphus and not me." Lucius murmured abruptly, "Not with all this mess in the family and how dreadfully she will behave. Years ago I may have been up for the task of it…"_

_ "You're talking as if you're old and stuffy and sixty." Rabastan scoffed, pressing his right foot into the moist ground. The early April sky above them was chalk white and heavy. Druella Black would go into fits if it rained…"And it sounds like you think my brother is cursed."_

_ "I know he's cursed." Lucius laughed lightly, taming a loose strand of his long hair that had fallen into his eyes, " With her there's no telling anymore. She's turned into a cold sort of creature."_

_ "Still pretty."_

_ "But not just pretty. She used to be. But she is stronger than she's beautiful. Now she's got those darker ideas in her head. She's a better soldier than a wife."_

_ "Which is what she wanted."_

_ "And which is why I find it easier to talk to her than Narcissa, but, in regards to which one I would prefer to relax with, I would chose the one who has nothing but simple, simple things to say. And that is a compliment to Narcissa." Lucius glanced over at the women dotingly, "I just would not want the work for the Dark Lord to follow me to bed every night. It's just my taste. Rodolphus is the stronger man if he can endure it. I'm happy for him, though. Don't you dare take all of this the wrong way…" Malfoy raised his eyebrows and showed his gleaming teeth in another smile,_

_ "No, no, I understand." Rabastan assured the wizard, while taking his wand and a cigar from within his cloak pockets,_

_ "I knew you would be the one to talk to." Lucius said, "Oh, and here's the mother…" _ _As Druella swept under the vine-covered archway from the patio, Rabastan swiftly stowed the cigar. She finally showed her age after all the years of being known for her younger-than-she-truly-was face. Her chestnut hair had started to bleed grey from the roots since January when she had been left to plan her daughter's wedding alone. The mother of the bride passed the two wizards with a warm smile. Rabastan supposed the ruffling gown she wore was so decorated with gems so that people would be so distracted by the glittering fabric that they would forget to look deep into her red, ringed, dying eyes. _

_ "Welcome to our family." She said to Rabastan in her always-hushed voice,_

_ "Thank you." He said, glad she did not meet his gaze. She went to her daughters. Rodolphus exchanged a few words with her, a broad smile finding him. Then, he touched his bride's sleeve as a promise he would not leave her alone for long and started over towards his brother. Narcissa came before him, blushing at what her mother and sister were talking about._

_ "No more tears?" Lucius said, touching Narcissa's hair,_

_ "For now. I know I'll fall to pieces later after my speech."_

_ "Well I'll have someone fetch you tissues before that." Her fiancé assured her before turning to the groom. Rodolphus was dressed in fine dress robes that were black and sharply cut at the lapels. Lucius offered earnestly, "Congratulations." _

_ "Thank you." Rodolphus returned and smiled at his friend. _

_ "I'll leave you to your brother…" Lucius said, taking Narcissa's tight waist and leading her away from the two men. _

_ "So." Rabastan said, showing his teeth,_

_ "It's over." Rodolphus exhaled, running a hand through his hair,_

_ "Not quite." Rabastan folded his arms to hide his shaking fingers. It happened every once in a while. Rodolphus didn't mind, though, of course._

_ "The legal mess, the traditions…" he paused, "Whether she or anyone else likes it or not."_

_ "How is she?"_

_ "I haven't talked to her since yesterday and just now. I mean, she's how she is."_

_ "She looks happy."_

_ "It doesn't matter how she looks. She's had to look happy in front of her family for years."_

"_That's true." Rabastan then noted, "But then how do you tell?"_

_ 'Even I haven't figured that out yet." Rodolphus confessed, fidgeting with his cufflink mindlessly. And the bride, just then, came striding over to them with her mother. Bellatrix's face was made up more than usual and her thin lips were set in a line. _

_ "We had better prepare for the reception." Said Druella, "You have your speech written, Rabastan, of course. You will be first, then Narcissa, all right? All right." She tried another bittersweet smile. Rabastan nodded politely,_

_ "Of course."_

_ "Try not to make a fool out of yourself." Bellatrix murmured to him, her voice quieter than usual, a smirk tugging at those tight, slender lips. Rodolphus chuckled for her, not noticing that her eyes wandered across the garden and rested among the gardenias for a moment. Rabastan looked behind him, pretending to turn and clear his throat. His gaze found two men talking near the bushes of thick white flowers. It was the young Regulus Black, his face as cold as always. The other was the Dark Lord, who stood taller than anyone else in the garden, the wind blowing his dark hair so it hid most of his face. He rested his thin fingers on a flower and was subtly and swiftly plucked one trembling petal from the stem._

The room was dark when Rabastan drew his head up from the pensive for the last time. A witch and a wizard sat on the stairs in front of him. His sister-in-law and his brother's conversation slowed to a stop when they turned to look at him.

"Rabastan?" tried Rodolphus for the fourth time that day. Finally, Rabastan responded,

"Yes. Yes! Rodolphus! I remember!" and Rabastan gave a short series of his high, rasping laughs, grinning wide with his thin teeth. "And Bellatrix…" He tried to stand, and the penseive on his lap sloshed and tilted. Rodolphus was quick to take out his wand,

"Wingardium Leviosa." The bowl of memories, gleaming, floated in the air and soared slowly across the room to rest on the dining table while Rabastan got to his feet.

"I…What a…I don't even…" Rabastan tried, half of his vision fading into darkness, his head spinning. It was Rodolphus who caught him when his balance wavered. Bellatrix produced a laugh that Rabastan could only remember echoing off of the rotten walls of Azkaban. Rabastan suddenly felt sicker.

"Lookie…" she cackled, coming close to him, "He looks drunk like his uncle used to with that new step of his…"

"He's just dizzy from all of it. Let's sit him down again." Rabastan felt the taught arms of his brother help him lean backwards into the chair again where he sat and held his forehead, feeling wrinkles there that he had never explored before,

"Where are we?" Rabastan looked about, squinting at the details of the room in the dim light from the few candles that hung high in the air. The portraits on the walls had been burned from the center of their canvases to the edges of their frames, the stair case looked slightly tilted, and cobwebs cowered in the corners….

"Riddle Manor." Bellatrix said quietly to him, "The Dark Lord is keeping all of us here to recover."

"The Dark Lord." He remembered vaguely the slanting, shaking night of their return and the man he had never seen before on the stairs. And then the sleepless nights at the Manor and a bottle of firewhiskey and the stretching corridors and the woman and her pale home and the speckled cat and then it all swirled into grey and muffled sounds…

"Rabastan?" Rodolphus questioned, leaning down,

"Yes." He blinked hard and began scratching at his neck, "I feel different."

"Better?"

"Myself?" The younger wizard took a breath,

"So, better?" Rodolphus passed a skeletal hand over his brother's forehead.

"So different." Rabastan hummed. Bellatrix gave another of her laughs and he scratched harder at his burning neck.


	11. What Bellatrix Saw

The ceiling of the ballroom was completely illuminated for the first time in years, but only for an instant. The spell had dyed the room a shocking violet for a moment before it hit Bellatrix directly in the chest. The witch's creaking legs were knocked out from under her. She flipped forward twice and then land with a crack, the dust on the wood fanning out around where she fell.

Lucius Malfoy drew his wand back and squinted at Bellatrix from the other side of the space, his strong jaw glossed in sweat. His blonde hair was tied back, but some strands of it had managed to come loose and fall into his eyes. The back of his cloak was covered in the powder from the floor from when he had been thrown from his feet earlier. But he stood tall now, his pride in besting the witch again showing only in the little smirk urging up the side of his mouth. The wizard moved forward,

"Are you hurt this time, Bellatrix?" He called. She responded with a hissing noise. Her shoulders were heaving as she hauled herself up from the ground.

Other death eaters, some with dust speckling their robes, some with masks, some standing straight, and others holding onto their recently injured shoulders or necks, all lined the back wall of the ballroom. The chandelier was lit, along with the fireplace, but the huge room still sat mostly in shadow. The last fragments of dying sunlight from under the tall curtains helped with the gloom a bit, but not much. Waiting in the dimness, the men along the side of the room all had their wands at the ready, in case they were summoned to join the duel.

"Go on." Came a cold voice,

The Dark Lord stood away from the others, with his back to the fireplace, his eyes keenly observing the witch stagger to her feet for a fourth time. He was still, but his stretching shadow shook a little on the floor in front of him.

"Crucio!" Bellatrix lashed out, lunging forwards towards Malfoy, who leapt out of the way of the curse. The spell flew from her wand (a rose red burst of light) and slammed into the wall, burning a searing hole in the molding wallpaper. The witch and wizard were a good deal apart from each other now. They stepped carefully among sloppy footprints on the dusty floor, "Crucio!"

Bellatrix tried again. And again, Lucius thwarted her,

"Protego!" He said, panting.

"Don't be soft." Voldemort commanded, lifting his chin a little and studying Bellatrix, who looked to him with her mouth open and her knuckles white around her wand, "Either of you." Lucius nodded,

"Stupefy!" Lucius roared hoarsely. Bellatrix would have none of it. With a flick of her wand she sent the spell away, glaring at her brother-in-law, a smile creeping across her face when she cast,

"Flegellaro!" Indigo chords of electricity sprang from Bellatrix's wand like nine tails of a whip and snapped at Lucius' feet. He jumped aside but his left leg was suddenly ensnared in the enchanted cables. The wizard tripped at a dangerous moment. Bellatrix reared her arm back and then lashed out again, "Flegellaro!" This time, the spell met Lucius's back with a slippery snapping. The wizard fell on his chest with a harsh shout. Bellatrix's laughter rebounded off of the walls, echoing in phantom remnants for an instant or two. Then, with her hair dripping in her face, Bellatrix wobbled towards the wizard, who was nearly to his feet again, raising his wand.

Voldemort shifted. She looked like a blundering baby. Her shot was uneven; her form was rid of all the violent grace he had known her to possess in her youth. She was a stumbling, skeletal terror across the room. The Dark Lord crossed his arms. She could certainly be of use to him,

"Crucio!" Bellatrix spewed. Lucius, tried to spit out a profanity, but was tossed on his back before he could do anything but scream. Red light erupted around him, bouncing across the floor, throwing dust up around his convulsing form.

Rodolphus, who was slumped on the wall, near the rest of the men, watched his wife's face twist as she brutalized her brother-in-law. The red light fell over her cheeks like some flickering rouge. And the happiness, the wild, manic joy that was illuminated in her eyes could not be missed, even from across the ballroom.

Lucius was silent as the spell shot through him and Bellatrix was so enraptured that her successful screams had quieted. By then it was not difficult to hear Voldemort order,

"Enough." He drew his hands to his sides. Bellatrix continued, entranced by the new strength of her own magic, her hand shaking wildly while she cursed and cursed and cursed the writhing man before her. "Enough, Bella." The Dark Lord tried for a second time. But she was laughing again and her aim was wavering further. The spell spilled over Lucius and scraped new parts of the floor, scorching the wood, "Bella! Enough!"

The witch's wand flew from her hand with a flick of one of the Dark Lord's long fingers. She was still reeling, chattering, stepping back. Bellatrix barely realized her wand was gone. She had been driven so deeply into her fit, everything was sort of a blur.

Voldemort, a frustrated shadow against the backdrop of the dying fireplace, took a breath. At the side of the ballroom, the Death Eaters shifted, whispering while Lucius rose out of the dust, gasping, clutching his collar,

"How can one trust she wouldn't lose control...in the...in the Hall of Prophecy?" Malfoy managed to pant to the Dark Lord who merely replied,

"I have witnessed what you have witness and I have formed an opinion of my own. I do not need yours, Lucius."

"Forgive me." Malfoy held his breath so that he would not say another word and he turned again to glare at the squirming Bellatrix, who had gotten to her knees to retrieve her wand. She let her fingers run through the dust, still shaking with excitement.

Then the Dark Lord called her name,

"Bella." And she looked up with still eyes and half of a yellowed smile on her shining face.

Rodolphus ran a hand through his dark hair and watched his wife, responding like a dog summoned by its master. And that's exactly how he thought Voldemort was treating her. His tone was calm, patronizing, and Lucius Malfoy noticed it too,

"Bella," The Dark Lord went on as all eyes fell upon the woman, "You cannot afford to lose control. It is unacceptable and unbefitting..."

"Forgive me."

"Of course. But do you understand?"

"My Lord," Malfoy voiced boldly,

"Lucius?" Voldemort looked to the man,

"I...well..." The usually eloquent Malfoy stumbled over his drawling words. The Dark Lord flicked his long tongue from behind his teeth,

"I smell a desire for revenge wafting from you. You want me to punish her?"

"Yes."

"Do you think she can help being the way she has become?" Bellatrix was sitting on the floor, tracing unwell patterns in the dust on the floor with the tip of her wand. She was grinding her teeth together, listening to the hum of the Dark Lord's shrill, soft voice reverberating around the room.

"No, I suppose she can't." Lucius said, trying to keep all the poison out of his tone,

"She has been punished in Azkaban. She will not behave like this by May." Voldemort said smoothly, "And if you do not believe me, you must be questioning my judgment."

"No, My Lord..."

"And if not that, you are simply put out because you were bested by your sickly sister-in-law. It is one or the other from what I can tell."

"It is the latter, My Lord." Lucius confessed with a cough, choosing the lesser of two evils and adjusting his cloak on his shoulders. He watched the Dark Lord's hand withdraw from his wand at his side and Malfoy's shoulders relaxed.

"Pitiful of you. " Voldemort nodded and then turned to gaze upon the shuddering Bellatrix,

"Forgive me." She rasped from the floor, across the room.

"I have." Voldemort replied.

"I would like to try again." Bellatrix said, not getting up yet. The Dark Lord looked to Lucius and without any expression in his voice he asked,

"Worn out?"

"Honestly..." Malfoy began,

"Always."

"Yes." Lucius said, looking away, keeping his head held very high, but avoiding looking into the shadowy face of his master just incase Voldemort were to read his thoughts,

"Go rest, then. Let's have a fair fight. Rabastan, against your sister-in-law." And Rabastan looked up from near the door. He was sitting in a chair, unlike the rest of the men.

"My Lord?" He croaked, making to stand. Bellatrix was up on her feet now, licking her chapped lips, and feeling the pressure that had just fallen over the ballroom.

"Yes. Up with you, Rabastan..." Voldemort encouraged while Rodolphus aided him to his feet. Rabastan looked once, casually at his brother, who stood next to him and put a hand out just in case his younger brother should fall. Rodolphus saw Rabastan's eyes again (they were watery, encircled in deep, rusting shadows) and spoke up, rashly,

"Master..." Rodolphus was pleased to hear how his own voice felt easier in his throat when he spoke. He put his hand on his brother's sighing, sharp shoulder, "I have spent a good deal of time with my brother over the past few weeks. I do not know if he is strong enough to duel, even if he wouldn't say so himself..." Rabastan would have said something, if he had had the strength to speak more than a few words at a time, "Allow me, I beg of you, my Lord. I will duel my wife. I am strong enough and I'd be bold enough to say it is a fair match due to..."

"Enough. Yes. Rabastan, be seated. Rodolphus, if you will." Voldemort decided.

Rodolphus didn't realize how quiet the room was until he began his march out to the middle of the room. The eyes of the others were heavy upon him and Bellatrix's stare from across the room was digging into his ace. The Dark Lord fell from his view as Rodolphus turned to face his wife across the stretching, dance floor. The dust that had been thrown up into the air from the previous duels still sort of hung there. It was a thin, barely noticeable wall that could only be seen when the candlelight and sunlight met. And Bellatrix, through this dust was a bit blurred around the edges,

"Begin, then." Voldemort's voice instructed. And Rodolphus made the mistake to hesitate and breathe. The witch shot a spell immediately and it hit her husband's shoulder, sending him staggering, throwing an attack blindly at her.

Nagini wound through the legs of one of the men near the door. She may have startled him, but she didn't notice. She hardly paid attention to the dueling fugitives, either. The snake slunk past the wizards, over the dust, and to the feet of the Dark Lord.

"Voldemort." She hissed to him, brushing against his ankle. He did not look down at her,

"Nagini, see how well they are doing?"

"Yes..." She said, peering around his robes to have a polite look at the furious fight,

"She will do well."

"Yes. Now," the serpent said, rising up, trying to earn the Dark Lord's gaze, "Severus is here. He has brought it." This did make Voldemort look upon her,

"Now?"

"The Third Floor."

"Good." He said to the snake just as Bellatrix came skidding towards him. Rodolphus was breathing hard,

"He's not holding back, is he?" Nagini noted, but Voldemort had already set off for the door. The serpent was fast to follow, minding the spattering of spells that were falling a little to close to her for her liking,

"Continue." Voldemort ordered before exiting the room.

Bellatrix rose up, the dust falling away from her. When she waved her wand again, something distant fluttered through her mind. A format, a pattern. She stepped differently. She recalled a dueling lesson,

"Expelliarmus!" She shouted, twisting her wrist a bit differently. The wizard ducked. She missed. But she had remembered. And so did he, apparently.

"Stupefy!" His form was purposeful, improved, and the spell hit her square in the stomach, knocking her from her feet, numbing her arms. She gasped, but laughed. She felt powerful. From the floor she shot a spell that soared to her husband and found his legs, wrapping them up tightly and felling him. He crashed to the floor and Bellatrix gave a bright squeal,

"How's that?" She exclaimed while he squirmed, firing a spell at her that came short and made a straight, steaming fissure in the dance floor. The next spell came close, but she deflected it and got to her feet, her calves burning. And she cursed him, briskly. But withdrew and challenged, "Get up, then." There was a swift exchange of spells, light, and screaming and then Rodolphus' wand flew into the air and fell away from him. He lifted his hands, not even trying to retrieve it. His chest was shaking as he watched his wife before him with her arm extended, her wand at the ready.

"You've done it. You've done it." He said quickly and warily.

"I have." She said to herself. The death eaters watched the tip of her wand shaking. Lucius secretly hoped she'd curse the other wizard as she had cursed him. But she turned to the fireplace instead, "Did I do well?" She asked no one. The Dark Lord had gone, of course. She looked about for him for a moment, but then turned to her husband, "That means we're through?" He swallowed and nodded,

"I think so." Rodolphus was about to offer her a compliment when she folded into her trembling laughter again. And then the double doors opened slowly and Severus Snape entered the ballroom, barely blinking at Bellatrix's fit. But when she caught a glimpse of him through her shaking, she sucked in a breath to stare at the potions master,

"Lucius," Snape said, not leaving the doorway, "Please come with me, the Dark Lord needs to discuss something with you..."

"Is it about May?" Bellatrix questioned, creeping towards the door, while Malfoy strode there.

"Yes." Said Snape,

"Then does he need me?" She wrung her wand in her hands,

"He said if you had finished your duel..."

"I have."

Suddenly, from above, there came a shattering that sounded so violent it could be heard through the ceiling. For an instant everyone in the room thought that the chandelier had snapped from its supports. The Death Eaters flinched, Snape backed out of the room, and Rodolphus went to Bellatrix. Upon realizing that it was something from upstairs, everyone but Snape looked simply confused. Severus, however, drew in a breath and gazed upwards, his face still.

"Suppose it's a break in?" Rabastan croaked, nearly getting out of his seat,

"No," voiced Snape before anyone could panic, "No. It's nothing of the sort."

"How do you know?" Lucius drawled, going close to the other man,

"I don't feel like explaining."

"Dementors?" Bellatrix blurted,

"No." Snape said sternly as Rabastan gave a cry, "It's not. It's not. Come with me. Lucius, Bellatrix."

When they were ascending the stairs to the third floor, Lucius finally asked Snape,

"What's going on?"

"The Dark Lord requested that I bring him a tool, of sorts, that could aid him in killing Potter."

"A weapon?" Bellatrix panted, having trouble keeping up with the healthy wizards and leaning a little on the railing,

"No, no. Something to aid him in learning about how best to defeat the boy, maybe defeat Dumbledore, whatever he wants to do most at the moment..."

"And we..."

"And you were called, Lucius, I think, just in case it is revealed that rearrangements need to be made for May's assignment, whatever that is at this point."

"He hasn't told you?" Hissed Bellatrix mockingly to the professor,

"No. He told me I was to remain with Dumbledore. You are the only two who manage the details about your assignment." Said Snape respectably. She knew he wouldn't play along. They moved through a hall on the second floor to another staircase that Bellatrix had only passed curiously a few times,

"And what was that noise?" Malfoy questioned as they began to climb the spiral steps one after the other. Snape lit his wand, so did Bellatrix.

"It will all make sense very soon, believe me." Snape said. Lucius glanced back once at the struggling witch. The staircase to the third floor had never been traveled by other Death Eaters, except, perhaps, Wormtail and it was winding and tiring. They all found it odd that the steps were covered in ash.

"I know you enjoy being cryptic to irk us." Bellatrix pointed out, resting for a moment on the step, standing and licking her lips,

"Oh, of course I do." Snape said simply, not waiting for her. The two men disappeared from her view, "One must turn to such childish practices when they are not allowed to know big, important things like the rest of you."

Bellatrix couldn't snap back, because she heard Voldemort's voice from around the wall,

"It showed me nothing! Nothing but nonsense, Severus!"

"My Lord..."

"It insulted me more than aided me!" The Dark Lord's voice was shrill, hoarse. Bellatrix made to finish the climb, but nearly collided with Lucius, who was trying to descend quickly,

"What is it?" Bella hissed to him,

"Get back further." Malfoy said, shouldering her trying to pass her. And then came Severus' voice,

"My Lord, I believe it still works...Look." Snape tried,

"Bella." Lucius whispered, tugging her arm roughly. He was below her on the stairs now, his wand lit, casting shadows on his face that reminded her how old he was,

"I want to hear."

"I don't think we should be near him now."  
"He summoned for us!" She protested,

"I don't want to get punished."

"I don't want to disobey!" She rasped, glaring at him and pulling away,

"I don't want you to be punished..." and he tried to drag her down again,

"We'll be punished if we don't come when we are called..."

"He doesn't mean for us to be here!" Lucius protested for a final time, staring up at her.

"Just go. We'll see who's wrong or right soon enough, but I want to hear! I want to stay!" Already she must have lost precious parts of the conversation above.

"Eaves dropping on the Dark Lord? You're madder than I thought."

"I'm not mad." But he was already gone. Before the luminosity of his wand's light left the staircase, Bellatrix had turned back to listen,

"Dumbledore knew...Dumbledore must have tampered with it!" Voldemort was saying, "I saw some sort of foolishness that he would want me to see..."

"I would not know, My Lord..." Snape replied quietly.

"Damn him!" Something crashed to the floor,

"Shall I set out to repair it?" Snape suggested and there was a pause.

"If you are sure it has no dreadful enchantments upon it the next time I'd look."

"Yes, Master."

"Do not disturb me, Snape. Don't have any of them disturb me. Send them away." Bellatrix felt her lungs tighten. She put out the light of her wand and cast herself into darkness. Her legs were hurting, but she was too nervous to sit on the stairs. The floorboards were far too loose. So the witch pressed against the wall, surrounded by the blackness of the staircase.

"Of course, My Lord." There was a pause and she heard Snape's footsteps nearing the stairs.

"Wait." Voldemort continued, "Did you know how badly Dumbledore had effected it? Did you?"

"My Lord, certainly not."

"He must have known you were to bring it to me and he must have said something."

"I didn't tell him I took it..."

"That's a lie!" Voldemort accused. Bellatrix heard the familiar crackling of the Cruciatis Curse and saw scarlet light flicker around the bend on the stone. Snape did not scream. The spell finished. And when the red light had faded, Bellatrix realized that a cool blue glow was shining through the darkness from the room at the end of the stairs. It was a natural light,

"I didn't tell him I was taking it for you, Master." Severus corrected,

"Get out." Voldemort said coldly. Bellatrix braced herself. The glaring glow of Snape's wand swept around the corner and then he nearly collided with her. They stood there, staring at each other for a moment. He was sweating, tense, and his dark eyes took her in. But he said nothing. He didn't reprimand her or advise her, the dark potions master simply slipped by her, brushing against her and leaving her. His light and his dark robes disappeared from view and left her in the dark again.

With no sound to listen for and no sight to be had, Bellatrix breathed deeply, debating with herself. She didn't hear footsteps from above. And so she waited, dreading the noisy stairs no matter if she decided to move up or down. With another deep breath, she smelled antique smoke that was embedded in the carpet. She would never have the courage to come this close to the third floor again.

Bellatrix willed her tired, terrified legs to move and she climbed the last few stairs as quietly as she could. The bluish light grew a bit stronger and her heart was laced tighter. She didn't dare light her wand.

The scene she was met with was painted with all the blues and grays of springtime dusk. A gaping hole had been blasted through the ceiling. It was a huge space as if walls and columns had been knocked down. There were odd things, muggle things, twisted in untouched, charred piles. For a moment, she thought that all of this damage was recently done. Perhaps that was the crashing noise? But then she noticed that it was, for the most part, laced with yellow tape, which was weatherworn and fading. And black ashes glossed everything except for one, enormous mess.

At first she thought that water or piles diamonds were shining near the cracked frame in the center of the room. But with another glance, Bellatrix realized that she was standing before a devastated mirror. Before it had been broken, it must have been monstrous. Some of the glittering pieces were simply enormous. The glass shone in the twilight glow, glinting sapphire along some tortured edges. But it all appeared to be like some frenzied smattering against the black canvas of the floor. The frame was broken and among the pieces, in about five, splintering fragments, all newly scalded by spells. The entire thing was still steaming with a terrible magic, but the witch had to near it.

Bellatrix's blood was thundering through her. She peered into the shadows, dreading the idea of Nagini's white eyes shining there. But she found herself alone. The witch studied the marks on the floor to be sure. She saw the space where Severus was tortured. Two sets of footprints had parted there, going in opposite directions. Snape had gone to the stairs and the Dark Lord had gone away, just beneath where Bellatrix herself now stood, and towards the fourth floor. Nagini's tracks went with him.

The witch realized she had been holding her breath and inhaled deeply upon kneeling at the edge of the glass pieces. The ash was soft under her hands. She kept her head up and her eyes wide for a moment while the floorboards moaned beneath her. But then, she looked out upon the fragments of the mirror. The March winds were already reaching through the hole in the ceiling to begin to cover the shards with ash. Bellatrix took some of the dark curls blowing against her cheek and tucked them behind her ear before she put her wand to one of the ragged pieces of glass.

She levitated the fragment, her wand tight in her hand. Every nerve inside of her screamed that she should have brought someone along, in case she would be met with dark magic. But she focused, taking another careful breath in the silence. A few feathery flecks of ash fell from the glass as the piece rose before the witch.

Bellatrix looked into the mirror. She saw herself reflected in the cracked tile. Her eyes were wide and her jaw was tense. Behind her she saw the door to the stairs, the turned over dining table, the space on the floor where the ashes had been blown away by Voldemort's curse. She blinked. And The Dark Lord was displayed in the glass, standing in the shadows by the stairs.

With a choked gasp, Bellatrix released the shard and it dropped to the floor and shattered. She slid and turned around on the floor, bracing herself, staring into the dark. But the Dark Lord was not there.

"My Lord?" She exhaled. There was no answer, she made to stand, "My Lord...forgive me." But nothing in the room answered her, or even stirred, except for the two crows that flew over the hole in the roof just then (which startled her further). Bellatrix got to her feet and sprang as fast as her thin legs could carry her, back to the stairs. She called down quietly, lighting her wand, "Master?" There were no steps on the staircase.

Now, in the wand light, she realized that her left hand was bleeding. She must have pressed it to the pieces on the floor in her haste to get away from the mirror. It stung, but only a little, and she could barely feel it. She turned, her back against the wall, in the place where she was sure she saw Voldemort standing in the reflection.

Bellatrix could not even think of the pain of her palm. She was daring to toy with the idea that the Dark Lord might still be there. Perhaps he had transformed himself into something and was in the room with her. He could be beneath the ashes. He could be the shaft of light by the mutilated piano. He could be the shadow just behind her, on the wall, where the small of her back was pressed.

And Bellatrix had to move back to the murdered mirror. Her steps were light and on her terrified toes. She wiped her numb, scarlet hand, which was shaking again, on the side of her black robes. She could not leave her blood on the pieces, just in case Severus tried to repair the mirror. Kneeling again, Bellatrix brought the glowing tip of her wand close to the fragments that she had displaced on the floor. A bit of red was there on a few of the edges. She passed her wand over where her blood had glossed the glass and cleaned it. When she had finished, she lifted her head and peered around again. Still no one.

Before she could leave, however, something deep in her stomach kept her rooted there in the dimness. She put out the light of her wand and sat there for a moment. She dared to levitate another piece, a slightly larger piece than before, and she looked once more

This time, he was there again, but closer. With a jerk of her head she looked behind her to be greeted, once again, by the emptiness of the charred room.

"Master?" She called for a final time to the darkness before turning to the mirror with her heart twisted up inside of her.

In the reflection, there he was, sitting right beside her, it seemed. She managed to glance to where he should have been found and saw nothing but the empty air. In the mirror, Voldemort lowered his face to her collar, breathing deeply. Bellatrix's mouth fell open, something beating at the insides of her lungs. Voldemort, in the mirror, drew himself up to gaze at her with his red eyes, which were brighter than anything else in the blue reflection. And in the glass, The Dark Lord reached out a milky hand to caress her face with all the tenderness she had dreamed he would possess. Bellatrix brought her bloody fingers to her cheek, but found nothing there, even though the reflection told her that she was gingerly touching her Master's pearly knuckles.

What if he was truly there? What if it was some enchantment he was using to toy with her. What if he finally...

"Bellatrix." Severus Snape called quietly from the stairwell. The lady saw him in the mirror and ripped her eyes away from the reflection, swiftly lowering the piece to the ground. She stared at the wizard, "Bellatrix, come away from that."

"Snape." She managed, not rising yet.

"Get back downstairs. I thought you would be intelligent enough to follow me..."

"What is this?"

"Come with me and I will explain..."

"I want..."

"You cannot stay." He hissed softly to her, his face pale with fear. She looked to the pieces again and soon felt Severus' cold hand around her arm, "Bellatrix." She glared up at him and noticed that he had his head craned away, looking anywhere but at the floor. "He would kill you, if he saw you here now." And at this, she stood, looking at the pieces below her as she rose up on her swaying legs. Different pieces of Voldemort's face were reflected in every shard.

"What is it?" But Snape herded her to the stairs and practically shoved her down. She needed the railing and regrettably, trailed a bit of blood on it.

"Go, go, go..." Severus kept repeating slowly until they had reached the second floor.

"What was that mirror, Snape?"

"We need to go some place private."

"Here." She said and opened the frail door to a guest room with her bloody hand.

"All right." And they went inside. Bellatrix turned on the muggle oil lamp with a frown, she was still breathing hard. Something was missing from deep inside her.

The room was nearly bare except for the bed, which had a dreadfully pale quilt on it and near the wall. And there was a trunk under the boarded window that was drizzled with cobwebs.

"Tell me."

"That was the Mirror of Erised." Severus murmured quickly. Bellatrix was barely listening, all she could think about was seeing the Dark Lord's fingers near her lips, "It shows you what you desire more than anything. Wizards and witches have rotted away in front of it, Bellatrix. Whatever you saw, it was an illusion, almost a delusion." And she met his eyes, even though she felt herself blushing. Guilt was slowly churning inside her,

"Why did the Dark Lord break it?"

"He didn't see what he wanted to see..."

"How is that possible?" She sat on the bed.

"I cannot go into anymore detail. We are bordering on the confidential."

"Snape..."

"I will not disobey him." Severus said quite gravely.

"Oh, wouldn't you?" She said, wishing her face wasn't so warm,

"Never." She could feel that he was fighting her occlumency fiercely and she felt her eyes shudder a little while he tried to penetrate her mind. She would not let him see. She blinked hard and spat,

"Snape!"

"You were trying to read my thoughts, so why should I hesitate to attempt to read yours?" He scoffed and she stood before him, not looking him in the eyes, "You see, I'm playing fair."

"Go to hell."

"You shouldn't be so defensive if you've nothing to hide."

"Likewise."

"You should be grateful I took you away from there, Bellatrix."

"So what if I had rotted there? Why would you care?"

"Oh, I couldn't care less if you had starved up there. I cared that the Dark Lord didn't find you because I feel responsible for the mirror. I don't know that he would have appreciated you near it."

"You act like I'm a child, Snape."

"Only because you do act like one."

"I don't know why he keeps you around."

"To keep you away from mirrors you should not be going near." Snape joked cruelly before she left the room, "And to remind you to wipe the blood from your face before you show yourself to anybody."

Bellatrix did not look back to the stairs leading to the third floor as she swept down the hall. She heard mutterings from the parlor, but didn't stop to see who was there. The witch went straight to the water closet. She shut the door behind her and turned on the lights with a wave of her wand, hating the buzzing of the muggle electricity.

She washed her hand in the sink and then sealed the cuts with a spell. Looking up from the rosy water, Bellatrix's eyes lingered on her reflection. She was alone, of course. And she brought her shining, healed hand to her cheek after hesitating to wash off the three bloody specks that she had painted there.

Rodolphus was reading in the bedroom when Bellatrix arrived there. He had pulled the collar of his robes back and there was a bag of ice on his shoulder.

"You got me rather badly. Congratulations." He said to his wife, who did not reply right away. Rodolphus hadn't changed for bed yet and his robes were still dusty. "Going to sleep? So soon?"

"I suppose."

"Something is wrong."

"Of course."

"And you don't intend on telling me about it."

"Of course not." She began unbuttoning her robes, facing away from her husband. "Where's Rabastan?"

"Strange that you care." Bellatrix didn't argue. She usually did.

Bellatrix put on her nightrobes with her husbands eyes brushing over her. When she turned, though, he was casually buried in his book again. If she were feeling conversational, she may have asked what it was about. But instead, the witch just moved to the edge of the bed, expecting him to move. He did. He knew she was in no mood to be fooled with.

Bellatrix lay down beside Rodolphus, putting her back to him, as she usually did. Some nights he could coax her near or to turn over to speak to him. Some mornings, when they were alone, he could manage to wake her and undress her. Tonight, he was too sore to investigate how she felt towards him, so Rodolphus turned another page.

After another chapter or two of "The Darkest Spells For The Advanced Practitioner", however, Bellatrix muttered,

"Turn out that light."

"It's early, Bellatrix."

"Rodolphus." He took the ice from his shoulder and leaned over towards the fragile nightstand with a groan. He turned off the oil lamp. Before he could light his wand and continue his research, however, Bellatrix drew the book from his hands. He heard it drop to the floor beside the bed before he felt her hands upon his arm, "Where's Rabastan?" Her inquiry was emotionless and so he attempted to reply in a tone just as flat,

"He wanted to retrieve more memories. He's in the parlor."

When Bellatrix kissed her husband, she felt sick with herself. She had seen her deepest desire and it was utterly blasphemous. She had harbored such unrighteous emotions within her since she was a girl and the Dark Lord had tortured her for such thoughts. And she knew those desires were alive and well and pulsing through her. And she tried so hard not to indulge in such guilty, guilty ideas.

But as she felt Rodolphus' mouth on her neck, Bellatrix dared to let the darkness help her think he was someone different. Somewhere in the deepest parts of her, Bellatrix only wished that she had taken a piece of the mirror of Erised from the third floor. It would be gone by tomorrow. It would be repaired. If only she had thought quickly enough. They would have never known...

"Bella..."

"Quiet. Touch my face."


	12. The Letter

The ghostly barn owl had been shifting upon the post for a good amount of the day, with its' talons gripping the top of the iron plate that read, 'Grimmuald Pl.'. At dusk, the bird swept off of the perch and down the pleasant street. It headed straight for an odd looking apartment. No. 12 was unlike any of the buildings alongside it. This particular dwelling was laced with a rotting layer of dark ivy and seemed to stand unfriendly and unnoticed.

Grime had settled at the edges of the windows. The owl went towards the smallest one. It was circular, near the top of the house, with a deep fissure running across it.

Peering beyond the glass, the owl widened its' inky eyes and witnessed a dim study. A light was on in the corner and illuminated the slipshod bookshelves, the dusty rug, and the paintings hanging askew on the walls that had been abandoned by their subjects. And there was a man in the room, the owl saw. He was slouching horribly in a leather chair wearing only a pair of slacks that looked far too large for his weedy frame and were held up around his waist by a thick belt. The man had abandoned a novel on the slanting coffee table beside him and was staring sleeplessly up at the peeling wallpaper near the ceiling.

His face was ruined. He looked pallid and thin and his eyes were moist. Upon his chin he wore the handsome shadow of a beard and his hair was thick and dark. However, something was dead about him. Perhaps, seeing his clear ribs made him look more skeletal than he should have. Upon his slender chest he bore strange tattoos. His name was Sirius Black. The owl was not sent for him.

The barn owl pecked politely at the window. It pecked a second time, louder. And the Sirius' gaze wandered to have a look at it, but he did not rise. In fact, he craned his neck back to recline entirely in the chair and he shut his eyes. The owl then began to scratch at the grimy windowpane with hysterical urgency, throwing up its dark wings and crying out. At this, Sirius turned his head towards the door and called,

"Kreacher! Get it! The damn bird is back!" The owl continued and watched the man become more impatient, "Kreacher, you git!" And then, the bird calmed itself. A hunched figure had appeared near the bookshelf, scowling. It was a house elf, wrinkled and pimpled and dressed in a fraying loincloth. He hobbled towards the window, drooling upon his apathetic master's bare feet. "Sick."

"Kreacher should strangle vile Master Black for making Kreature taint his loyal hands by touching Mater's traitorous post." The elf hissed, his voice muffled by the glass while he unlocked the window. He opened it and the barn owl stepped onto the sill, preening itself and extending one of its legs, which had a pristine envelope tied neatly to it. "Kreacher does not wish to touch Master's mail."

"It isn't mine. I'm not expecting a barn owl." Sirius said. Kreacher squinted his watery eyes and brought his nose to the envelope, giving it a sniff and then reading the address upon it. It was for a certain "Walpurga Medea Black".

"Oh! Oh! Ooh!" The elf howled and tore the letter from the owl roughly, sending the bird flapping out the window. "It is for...the late...Mistress..." Kreacher had begun to cry, his long, crooked nose drizzling immediately. Sirius had risen and held out his thin hand, now insisting,

"Give it."

"B-but..."

"Give the letter to me, Kreacher."

"No. You didn't want it before." Just then, the elf lifted his flabby arm and rammed it hard into the corner of the windowsill. He yelped, "Kreacher must...Kreacher must keep..."

"Give it."

"No! It's for Mistress! And you didn't want it a moment ago..." And the elf bashed his own arm again and then finally relinquished his prize. Sirius tore open the envelope and drew out the parchment within. He took his crooked wand from his pocket and brushed it carefully over the paper. Then, as quickly as he had desired it, he dropped it. Kreacher snapped his jaws and scrambled to pick up both the ruined envelope and the parchment,

"Now go away." Sirius commanded. That was one of the only orders Kreature enjoyed receiving from his Master,

"With pleasure!" The elf, clutching the papers, snapped his fingers and left Sirius alone in the study.

Kreacher reappeared on the second floor of the house, in a little closet, without windows or even a light. The elf sang a sick little diddy to himself while he settled among the junk that had been arranged like a smelly little nest upon the floor. There were bits of tablecloths that had ugly stains on them, a high heeled boot, a top hat, a ransacked and limp box of Chocolate Frogs, newspapers, jewelry, black curls of a lady's hair in a jar. But nothing in the elf's odd collection could have distracted him from the letter in his sweating hands. He put it close to his face to read it.

The shadows of the closet were indigo on the parchment. It was a bill, from a company called "Wizenition Inc." and it was for his late mistress, Walpurga, Sirius' mother. He looked over the numbers and reread the woman's name over and over until he couldn't help but touch the print with one of his long fingers.

Suddenly, the formatted scrawling about taxes disappeared into the clean paper. Kreacher chirped in distress. Where had his darling Mistress' name gone off to? Did the letter know he was not the one it was addressed to?

The letter, however, knew very well that it had been delivered into the right hands.

The blankness was soon filled with a new message, written in severe, concentrated, and very familiar handwriting. Kreature blinked hard. This new text glowed silver. It shone in the dank space like a soft flare and it read,

'At a quarter after seven you must meet me at the fireplace in the guest bedroom. Sirius must not know.' And then it flickered out.

Kreacher waddled from one corner of the drafty guest bedroom to the other for half an hour, wringing the letter in his warty fingers and occasionally kissing it. He never took his eyes from the still, sooty hearth. When the clock on the dresser top finally brought its' hands to a quarter after seven, the elf squatted down on the carpet and stared at the fireplace with his dribbling eyes. He looked once over his boney shoulder at the bolted door and then he listened. He could not even hear Sirius pacing upstairs. His master wouldn't discover him.

There were no logs to be set ablaze, but smoke had begun to crawl from beneath the bricks at the far back of the fireplace. Kreature scooted nearer with a snort, forgetting the letter on the floor behind him.

The hearth erupted into green flames with a rush of air and the room was filled with fluttering, emerald shadows. A disembodied head had appeared with the fire. It was a familiar face, with a halo of wild hair and swirling sparks.

"Ms. Lestrange!" Kreacher croaked, pressing his hands to the side of his face to contain himself. Bellatrix smiled back, giving the elf a concerning view of her spotted teeth and scarlet gums. But Kreacher couldn't have cared less as to how she had changed since the last time he saw her. He moved even nearer to the fire, "Oh! Kreature knew you would be all right! But Kreacher always worried... "

"I haven't much time..." She explained, her voice crackling with the fire,

"Of course, of course..." Kreacher nodded vigorously, his ears flapping,

"You must do something for me."

"Anything! Anything for you, Ms. Lestrange; the last of the loyal, the noblest of your sisters..." He took a breath and cut her off before she could speak, "How Kreacher wishes he was serving Ms. Lestrange and not that sinful Master Black!"

"Sh!" She warned, turning her head. Kreacher quieted when she glanced at the door, "It is about Sirius. You need to keep him away from any fireplace in the house on May fourteenth."

"Kreacher will!"

"Good. Sort out some kind of distraction. Do anything you must."

"Kreacher will!"

"Listen to me." She said quickly, "Potter will appear, to speak with Sirius. He must find you near the fireplace in the kitchen instead. You must tell him Sirius is away. Kreacher, perhaps you should keep Sirius out of the house completely...But when Potter appears tell the boy Sirius has gone out. " And then, the lady ticked her head to the side twice, squinting her eyes shut and then continuing. Kreacher didn't think much of it. "If he suspects that he has gone to the Ministry of Magic you need to confirm that speculation. Is that understood? Sirius must be out of the house and you must lead Harry Potter to think he has gone off to the Department of Mysteries..."

"Yes!"

"It must be done." Bellatrix explained gravely, "It is for the Dark Lord."

Kreacher was awed, it seemed. His entire body was quaking or perhaps it was just the fluttering shadows of the fire.

"Kreacher is trusted with such precious business?"

"I am trusted with it. And I have decided to trust you."

"Kreature will do it! Kreacher will make sure it is perfect!"

"Darling, thing." Bellatrix said with another smile, "I knew you would be reliable." Kreacher's leathery face turned an ugly pink,

"Kreacher is proud! Kreacher is humbled! Kreacher is happier than he has..." Just then, his left ear jolted. A door had slammed on the floor above...

"I'll send another message somehow, maybe some other way..." Bellatrix said, wide eyed, "And tear up that letter." Then, the room went black and the fireplace fell beneath steaming shadows. The witch had gone. Kreacher blood was boiling as a true smile smeared across his wrinkled face for the first time in years.

Lucius Malfoy drew in the last mouthful of smoke that he could coax out of his cigar, while Bellatrix sat up from where she had been kneeling (with her head in the fireplace). He flicked the ashes into a dish on the end table and exhaled. The sweet smog poured out of his nostrils and hung in front of his face for a moment. And in that instant, through the smoke, while she was standing up across the parlor, the damage Azkaban had done to Bellatrix was blurred. The witch looked like she had twenty years ago, slinking across the parlor towards him... Then, the veil evaporated and she was chattering again, scratching her jaw.

"It went well?" Lucius inquired,

"Mhm, mhm..." She hummed, blinking hard, "Dizzying, that floo powder! It's been so long... "

"Ah." Malfoy said, watching her reach, with a shaky hand, for a glass of water, "Yes. I could imagine." Bellatrix drank, tilting the glass too far and letting the water bleed down her chin and scrawny neck, "I still don't think we should give an elf such responsibility..."

"It's Kreacher." She replied tartly, licking her lips.

"It's a house elf."

"Lucius, this is not your poorly trained Dobby we're dealing with!" She cackled and Lucius leaned back in his chair, "Kreacher is loyal. I know what I'm doing."

"You'd better." He noted under his breath,

"I do." Her dark eyes were upon him,

"Bellatrix..."

"I do. I do. I do. I do. I do!" She squawked,

"You can't just..."

"I do! I DO!" The witch declared, her hand brushing the wand in the pocket of her robes, "You have to start trusting me!"

"Bellatrix!" He glared at her with bewildered eyes and she blinked hard, then rambling,

"I do. I do. And more importantly, the Dark Lord knows best and he told..."

"...you to sort it out. I've heard. I've heard a thousand times. I know."

"But you need reminding, apparently."

"No, I need reassurance and I'm not receiving any."

"If you'd..." she sucked in a breath, about to scream at him, but then her eyes wandered somewhere distant and she released a hissing exhale through her nose.

"Look," Lucius said from the sofa, leaning forward and speaking quietly, "I'm just worried." His hair fell into his face but he quickly remedied that.

"About what? About me?"

"No," he paused, sitting up, "well, you too. Yes, I want to see you well."

"I'm better."

"Better, but not entirely. You must understand that by now." He couldn't say that while looking into her eyes, so he adjusted his collar with his quick fingers and glanced away while they breathed in the silence of the parlor for a moment or two,

"What are you worried about." She demanded softly, "Lucius, what were you going to say."

"This entire endeavor."

"What? You sound like Severus. Get to the point."

"I have not carried out business for the Dark Lord inside of the Ministry for some time now. And I've never been a part of an ambush there..." She lifted her chin and raised her eyebrows but he stopped her, "And I know what you are going to say. You are going to tell me I'm ungrateful and cowardly, but I am not."

"They are children. Babies!"

"I am aware." He said, lifting a gloved hand to silence her and somehow managing to, "I am neither cowardly or ungrateful. I am just, I think, justifiably nervous."

"Do you think we'll be caught." Something new had begun to flutter over her face, even in the dim lamp light he could see the change. Her voice had simmered to a mild murmur. "Do you? What are the chances..."

"I shouldn't have voiced any concern, forgive me." He didn't quite know why he was apologizing. Perhaps it was due to the way her eyes flickered to the window to be sure no dementor was lurking there.

"The Dark Lord will take care of everything." She reassured herself.

"That's right." He said, breathing deeply and daring to offer, "Here. Sit." She did and she began to knead a handful of her robes in her thin fingers beside him.

Malfoy still missed her. The Bellatrix he had known had never returned from Azkaban Prison. He missed the Bellatrix with clean nails, with a deep laugh, with teeth that were smooth under his tongue. This woman was something from his nightmares, sometimes three women in one laugh, sometimes more of an inferi than a witch, sometimes a child, but she was never Bellatrix. She wasn't Bellatrix yet. He hoped she hadn't been lost to Azkaban forever.

The parlor was still, the doors were shut and the meager light from the lamp in the corner was growing very tired. Lucius listened to the creaking of the ceiling above him where fugitives trod lazily, pacing their bedrooms. The Manor had become more like St. Mungo's than anything else.

"Hm?" She questioned suddenly, tugging her hair with one hand. She was probably hearing things again,

"I just..." Malfoy almost felt as if he was talking to himself, "this cannot fail. I need to..." She wasn't really looking at him, "We must do this correctly. We're so close. It has to be perfect. I..."

"It's going to be hard not to kill the boy." Bellatrix commented, too simply. Lucius' turned to her sharply,

"You musn't kill the boy, Bellatrix. Don't you dare even think about it." He said gravely,

"But how can't I think about it? If he were dead, just think about it. The Dark Lord's power would never be questioned by..."

"Yes, only if he is killed at the hand of the Dark Lord himself. If you did it, Bellatrix..."

"I won't! I won't." Bellatrix barked, rolling her head,

"How can I know that you won't?"

"You need to trust me!" She shrieked in a tone too loud to be appropriate for the current conversation,

"You're contradicting yourself."

"If you don't trust me, you don't trust the Dark Lord's judgment!" Bellatrix raved, wringing her hands together,  
"I could barely trust you before your stay in prison!" Her eyes went wide, but she stayed dreadfully silent, "And now you have nothing to lose. I have to be anxious because I have a family to be concerned with. And I do trust the Dark Lord's judgment..."

"If you did you'd know that I am perfectly capable..."

"Yes you are capable of leading this mission, but not alone. And the Dark Lord knew that because he decided that you and I should be working together. The Dark Lord wanted us to collaborate. You have to listen to me. You can't go off like you do. You have to control yourself. I don't want you to jeopardize..."

"I know." She forced herself to reply through her teeth, staring forwards at the smoldering, emerald ashes that were glowing in the fireplace.

"Just like I need to take more risks."

"I know." Bellatrix turned and found his stony eyes. He was caught off guard, certainly. He barely had an instant to hope she was not using legilimency because his thoughts were soon bombarded with recollections of those eyes behind that dark hair, which were now sunken deep in her pale skull. Lucius could hear her faint, hoarse breathing. And then he felt his eyes shudder and he managed to look away casually before she could infiltrate his thoughts,

"Just wanted to see if we were thinking of the same things."

"You could ask." He muttered darkly,  
"You'd never give me a real answer."

"I might."

"Doubtful." Her thin lips fell open, revealing those teeth of hers, and the witch tilted her head to continue her stare. He checked his watch. Narcissa would be home. Malfoy was very conscious of the time and of his sister-in-law's fragile hand, which was inching his way on the couch cushion. If Bellatrix had not gone to prison perhaps their affair would have continued. Lucius often thought about that when he was sure she wasn't looking.

"I want to meet Draco." The woman blurted. Lucius drew in a breath, "The last person I spoke to outside of the Manor was Slughorn..."

"After the Department of Mysteries. You may meet him." He hoped he had appeased her,

"Please."

"It isn't safe for you to be out of the..."

"Then bring him here."

"Here?"

"Here." She said, "And when will I see Cissy again?"

"After."

"You're so lucky."

"Bellatrix..."

"You are. You must know it." He did know it, but he tried not to think about it. However, when his eyes found hers, he was tortured by the fact that she was practically caged here. "I have Rodolphus, but..."

"Are you getting along better?"

"Better every day. But I'd like to talk with someone different." Her mad chuckle burped up from within her again and then quieted, "You know how it is, of course." He accidentally sort of smiled at her before she said, "Lucius,"

"Hm." The wizard breathed with the witch,

"Why don't you want me to meet your son?"

"He's at school right now, Bellatrix."

"But you don't want me to meet him."

"I do."

"Liar." She bit her lower lip and repeated through her teeth, "Liar, liar, liar."

"Of course I'm hesitant." He said. She was illogical, unhealthy, impulsive. How could he have that around his child, "We've already established the reasons. You know how you can behave..."

"Stop talking to me like a child."

"I'm sorry, Bellatrix."

"No you're not."

"Bellatrix."

"I can read your thoughts."

"Bellatrix!"

"Lucius!" She exclaimed, with a faint smile finding her skeletal face,

"Don't patronize me." He warned quietly,

"You've been patronizing me a lot lately, why shouldn't I do it to you."

"Because, Bellatrix..."

"Because you're logical? Because you're healthier? Because you aren't impulsive?" She was teasing now. He looked away again, she could glide in and out of his mind instantaneously. This time he turned his entire head. It wasn't long before he felt Bellatrix grab his jaw with her skinny fingers. She jerked his head around. He resisted and grabber her wrist when she whined in a rotten form of baby-talk, "What's wrong? What are you hiding?"

"I am sick of you." Lucius tossed his head and freed himself, holding her wrists in his shaking hands. She stopped fighting him and he shook her away entirely while her soft, new laughter fizzed out from her throat, "Damn it." He turned sharply away, collecting himself. He ran a hand through his hair, "I cannot deal with this." She chortled, almost endearingly. When he wasn't looking at her, her voice almost sounded the same as it had...

"Turn around. Now who's acting like a baby?" Bellatrix laughed shrilly, "Come on, turn around. Nothing you'll be thinking will offend me further."

"I refuse."

"You refuse! Listen to you, sounding like your daddy." She had descended into her madness again. She had gone from

"It's a complete invasion of privacy."

Lucius didn't know what was worse. If he didn't look at her, he'd keep imagining her as she was fifteen years ago. If he turned to face her, she'd see that that was what he was dreaming up.

"You sound like bloody animals in there! We can here you from the stairs!" Came Wormtail's strained voice from beyond the doors to the parlor.

"What is it to you, Wormtail?" Lucius drawled, standing and adjusting his sleeves when the small man opened the door. Wormtail was dressed in a plain set of robes and his silver hand was smudged with dried soap. He must have been cleaning. Lucius towered over him,

"The Dark Lord is ill. He's stepped out for some air. If he comes in and hears the two of you yapping at each other..."

"So you've been appointed warden, then?" Bellatrix said from the couch, running her dry tongue over her teeth, "Ever since you suggested the idea of Sirius to the Dark Lord you've gotten an air about you that you don't deserve to even believe you have..."

"Have you done what you needed to do?" Wormtail pressed, ignoring her.

"Yes. Everything is ready." Malfoy explained, breathing deeply.

"He'll be glad to hear that."

"Let's tell him." Bellatrix sat straighter, drawing her wand and nearly touching the tip of it to her dark mark,

"Don't!" Wormtail stammered, "Don't call for him. Don't. He would be most put out. He said he wanted to be outside..."

"Well, you can let him know." Lucius said, moving to the frayed, leather chair over which his silver travelling cloak was placed.

"Surely he'd want to be informed immediately." Bellatrix began, twiddling her fingers wildly, "I don't pretend to understand his mind, but perhaps knowing things are in motion would..."

"I won't be the one to interrupt him." Lucius said, fastening his cape around his neck and looking up at the ceiling.

Outside the manor, the twilight was casting the graveyard in purple. The sunset was a pallid one. The entrances to the crypts were filled with shadows. A family of warblers was inky silhouettes on the black, budding tree against the pastel sky.

All of the birds had returned since the dementors had been relocated. The graveyard was blooming again, even if the flowers that were reaching up from beneath the tombstones could not be seen in the dimness of the evening, the scent of them was obvious in the damp air.

Voldemort was barefooted. He quietly passed over the uneven earth, breathing slowly. His white hand occasionally touched the top of a gravestone as he went. He was focusing on the textures around him, the cold dirt beneath his heel, the, the faint vibrations of muggle vehicles in the town far below upon the wet breeze.

He stopped in a place where the earth had been burned. The hill was almost bald. Some of it was covered in tufts of tall, yellow grasses, but the rest of it had been murdered a year ago.

Voldemort remembered.

He recalled looking up at this same, May, pale sky with weaker eyes, in the arms of one of his servants. He recalled descending the stairs to the crypt and being cradled and wanting to vomit. He recalled his final taste of snake venom.

His scarlet gaze passed silently over the space. Wormtail's dark blood had not left a few, miniscule crevices on the side of the slanted mausoleum. Even in the fading light the stain could be seen on the white stone. Lucius had stood there, by the tree. The Diggory boy's body had rested there, where the weeds were now growing at the side of the grave. The Lestranges should have been standing there, beside him.

The deepest part of him was rotting, he could feel it. Something was scraping inside. Something was very wrong, very off. He felt powerful, but uncontrolled. What if his new form was so strong that it could never be mastered? What if there were pains that would develop and never die? His breath became shorter and the Dark Lord leaned forward, against his father's grave.

A year ago, Voldemort had emerged from the cauldron, soaked in the grime of the potion with the wind embracing his new body. And the boy had been tied there. He remembered seeing those terrified green eyes through the smoke. Potter was bound there. Right there, upon that stone...

Voldemort gnashed his teeth and pounded the tombstone. There was a snapping sound. The warblers in the tree threw up their wings and cried, the mother and father leapt off into the sky. The marble had cracked, creating a fresh fissure through the names printed there. The boy had been writhing upon that stone a year ago. He could have been bleeding upon that stone a year ago.

The Dark Lord turned. At last, he calmed himself. He ran his pulsing hand over his face and then looked to the scarred hill again, trying to enjoy the way the last of the sunlight ran its fingers through the jagged, yellow grasses.

The door to the manor opened cautiously and Bellatrix appeared on the porch. The wind was blowing her hair into her face and she swatted at it. Her robes buffeted to her right side. When she noticed that she had been seen, Bellatrix stopped for a moment and then walked to him quicker, gracelessly fighting with her hair all the while as she descended towards him. Her steps were a little uneven on the gravel and when she came nearer, he noticed her glancing about as if she expected dementors to still be lurking in the blackness of the mausoleums.

Voldemort turned from Bellatrix, who was fast approaching, to lean on a damp, marble headstone. He was short of breath again. But she was, no doubt, coming to inform him that she had contacted the elf. Her steps ceased. She was so near. He could hear her long skirts whipping.

"My Lord..." Came her voice. And then came her report.

The Dark Lord stared hard at the bottom of the hill where the roofs of the muggle's houses were sitting, aligned, with their chimneys smoking. It had begun, once again. He was bitterly close to the knowledge he needed. He would kill the boy by the end of the summer. The ignorant would be silenced and he could finally give the Wizarding World what it needed. He could worry about finding the remedy to his body's ailments later. There was real work to be done again, at last.


	13. Security Breach

She had apparated so quickly that her Dark Mark was still searing hot on her arm. Bellatrix got her bearings, gripping her wand. Her heart was echoing in her head. The cement staircase was just behind her and she turned and began her ascent, lifting her skirts and hurrying.

The garish, May sunshine and the sounds of the street, stories below her, easily penetrated the dusty, weathered plastic hanging over all the skeleton of the building. She breathed the stale, medicinal scent of muggles everywhere as she climbed the stairs. Rodolphus would not be far behind her. Already she could hear the steps of the others on a steel floor, somewhere below her.

The air changed, halfway up the unfinished staircase. The magic of him smelled more distinct than anything to her. Her pace quickened. She was panting already, from excitement and premature fatigue. She was not fully healed, but Bellatrix was ready.

She had reached the seventh floor and the space burst into her view. The soft breezes swept through and among the thick, plastic curtains and tumbled over the enormous, open space. The concrete dust on the floor rolled shifted slightly with each light gust. The sunshine was brighter here than in the half-finished stairwell. Piles of metal rods and panels of forgotten insulation sat in a far corner by one of the stretching cement pillars. The Dark Lord stood away from the clutter in a corner where the midday glow was brightest. Bellatrix's eyes were burning with tears, sleeplessness, and the glare of the sun.

The golden light looked strange in her tangled hair. Voldemort watched the witch as she crossed the sunlit expanse. When she had reached him and knelt before him, the Dark Lord did not speak to her. He simply nodded and she stood while eleven men came up the stairs after her. Rodolphus was carrying his silver mask in his hand and joined his wife before Voldemort, who gazed at all of them. Bellatrix, Rodolphus, Rabastan, Lucius, Rookwood, McNair, Rosier, Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, Jugson, and Mulciber all stood before their master.

Their meeting place had been selected for its obscurity, of course. It was an unfinished apartment complex that stood, half finished and drafty near the channel. It had sat vacant since June, abandoned for a time, by the muggles who designed it, due to accidents on the site. The group looked so out of place amongst the plastic and boxes muggle tools cluttered in the corners. It was impossible for any of the wizards to feel at ease in such a foreign space and the anticipation of their task did not help their nerves either.

Voldemort took a breath. His eyes were almost entirely scarlet, with slivers of inky pupils, because of the golden sun. He let his gaze roam around the circle, passing over each of his follower's faces,

"You must remain hidden. Speak to no one. Stay together. If there is trouble, you know what to do. Is there anyone here who feels unprepared?" Bellatrix gazed around the circle, meeting Rodolphus', Rabastan's and Lucius' eyes. They all stared at each other. The Dark Lord looked to the wire-laced ceiling. "As I had hoped." He said, when no one voiced concern. "I will send the dream to the boy at my first opportunity. Expect him in the evening." Voldemort continued after a moment, "Do not kill the boy. You may harm him, but do not kill him under any circumstance. We still cannot know how his fate should be determined, not until we I understand that prophecy. Kill anyone and everyone who accompanies him, but leave the boy alone. And, above all else, do not break the orb. Do not release the prophecy. Do not lose this chance. Be sure no one loses the prophecy. If you destroy it, you destroy this cause. You will die. Every, single one of you will die." Everyone nodded solemnly.

"Lucius." Voldemort instructed, "You are on your own. Bellatrix you will lead the rest." The two looked at each other from across the way. "And this is where I leave you. Nagini has been sent ahead. Lucius will touch his mark when the elevator has been cursed. I will make all of you aware. He will touch his mark again when you may apparrate and I, again, will inform the rest of you. Beyond that, I shall not communicate with you. Lucius should be the only one to summon me and only twice. The third time your marks burn, I will have contacted the boy."

Voldemort took them in. He breathed their anxieties, tasting anticipation on his tongue. He looked each one of them in their shifting eyes before asking.

"Final questions?" The breeze answered him. He exhaled, "Go."

.

The harbor was glittering. Bellatrix looked out upon it from the circular entrance to the sewer. The walls of the gargantuan pipe were amber with rust. The wind skipping about the surface of the beautifully navy waters could not find here there, beyond the grates. Huge, silver cargo ships were passing by, dodged by diminutive, glossy sailboats and gleaming yachts.

Rodolphus appeared beside her in the shadows. The other men had come already and were waiting further along in the dried, barren, burning tunnel. She looked up at him for a moment, opening her mouth to say something when Rabastan apparated at last, breathing hard already. Bellatrix turned to the group and said hoarsely,

"This way." She ran. The heels of her boots banged on the steel. The woman blew past the others, her dark robes swinging behind her. They followed her into the dark, drawing their wands in their quivering hands.

They turned a corner and the luminosity of the channel was replaced by a murky blackness,

"Lumos Maxima." Bella breathed. Her wand exploded with light. The others did the same. In the glow, they could see the rust on the walls begin to drip with black water. Beneath their feet, the ground slanted and became slick. The smells that only the London underground knew blew into their faces from vents at the sides of the passage. Some men coughed. The pace slowed.

They soon came to the entrance to a chamber and heard rushing water echoing from within it. Bellatrix stopped. The others stopped behind her, panting. Before them was a canal of grey water, four feet across, and stretching the entire length of this new passage. There were some muggle lights here, blue bulbs covered by mesh on the walls.

McNair was the first to make the easy leap across the water. He lost his footing on the other side, but steadied himself on the wall, getting hot grime all over his palm. The others followed. Bellatrix hurried again, rushing them along,

"Come on. To the left. We're nearly there." Her voice ricocheted off the steel and stone.

Lucius' heart was thowing tantrums in his chest as he stood from his leather chair. The tolling of the clock on the wall had interrupted the silence of his office. It was two o'clock. He took up his cloak and strode across the wood floor,

"To a late lunch, Mister Malfoy?" His afternoon, grey-haired secretary inquired from her desk near the door.

"No, I've already taken lunch." He explained smoothly, his tongue dry in his mouth,

"Do you need something?"

"I'm not feeling well, regrettably, Ms. Ciphers. I think I should like to go home early."

"I'm sorry to hear that, sir."

"Yes. Thank you." He fastened his cloak around his neck and stepped under the doorframe. "Please direct any last minute business to Mister Zandereos. I just need to check something downstairs. Sign me out."

"Of course, sir." She nodded and wrote something down and he left her alone.

His ears didn't seem to be working right. The noise of the hallway was a honeyed buzzing. He headed directly for the elevator, his throat tight.

"Evening, Lucius." Alexander Merlenus came up beside him, suddenly and stepped inside the golden lift with him.

"Hello." Malfoy nodded, running his tongue over his teeth. The other man shifted his neck, snapping something tight in his spine, "Headed home?"

"Yes, indeed. I hope all is well with you, Lucius."

"It is." Replied Malfoy. The small talk continued and the elevator doors shut after Lucius gave one more look to the crowded hallway.

.

Bellatrix stopped. Her wand was still lit and extended out before her. The air was damp here. They had followed the passage, along the ledge beside the black stream. Now, they leaned upon the railing that had been built just at the edge.

"Here?" Rodolphus asked, putting a hand on her shoulder to rest. The group peered about, casting the light of their wands upon the walls and the low, wet ceiling. The glow glinted off of the murky water,

"It should be this side." She explained,

"Shut out the lights." Suggested Rosier, brushing a damp, blonde curl from his dripping face.

"Why?" Bellatrix asked, running a hand over the filthy wall.

"There has to be a channel, something under the wall. That's the only way Nagini..."

"Right. Lights out." The chamber fell into blackness. There were no muggle lights at all but after blinking a bit, Bellatrix and the others could see a soft glimmer beneath the water. They moved to it and peered over the edge of the railing at the light under the ripples.

"Try." Rabastan said, lighting his wand again. The others followed suit and the tunnel was illuminated with the nervous light again.

Bella turned quickly to the wall behind her and pressed her wand to it, tapping the stone nine times in succession. She coughed,

"It has to be." It was.

Smoke suddenly began to hiss out of the thin, shadowy spaces between the bricks. The grey smog became so thick that it clouded the entire tunnel. Bellatrix squinted, but could barely see her raised wand before her. There was a scraping of cement and a rumbling and then, when all had quieted, in the last remnants of the fog, they could hear the muted sound of the street above and a muted gurgling.

When the air cleared, a rectangular passage way stood open before the Death Eaters. Bellatrix rubbed her left eye, which was stinging, and then breathed deeply before taking in the sight in the room beyond. With her stomach tight, the witch stepped into the chamber with Rodolphus on her arm.

The place was entirely of the black brick, unlike the rest of the sewers, which were constructed of ugly, stained cement blocks. There was a circular pool, about five yards across at the center, surrounded by spacious ledges to be walked upon. From the water, which was clearer here, occasionally emerged a flock of letters. The parchment and envelopes did not drip when they floated up from the depths. They were dry and pristine and were headed skyward. There was a grate above the pool, fixed to the center of the high, circular ceiling. The envelopes soared to it and exited there. White sunlight fell in and illuminated the scene. The pool of water was slowly being tainted by blood.

Upon the ledge, across the way, two aurors lay mangled, their uniforms stained with each other's blood. One of their wands was floating in the water. Nagini was wrapped around one of the wizards, crushing him, stopping his leg from thrashing. His comrade had been killed instantaneously. The unluckier gentleman was trying to scream, it seemed, but he was gargling blood and vomit and foam. Nagini shrieked, her hiss echoing, and struck her final blow to his wrist.

The light shone down upon the serpent as she lifted her head gracefully from her work. Her face was dyed scarlet and the gore was quickly dripping down the rest of her shining body. She flicked her tongue and she looked to the group while her tail relaxed around the corpse.

"We're on schedule." Bellatrix managed to say quietly to the others, who had all crowded behind her. The passage had sealed itself again in another, milder smokescreen.

The snake had no time to eat. She dove silently into the pool, the red upon her swirling from her in the water like cream. Her tail slapped the surface as she began to swim down, down, down into the bloody depths. Then, she was gone and the Death Eaters were left alone.

"Should we use the Killing Curse, just to be sure?' Asked Goyle quietly while Bellatrix started off along the ledge.

"No." Rodolphus replied swiftly as a few more letters appeared from the pool and ascended to the grate, "Nagini did her work so that there would be no traces of Unforgivables. A creature cannot be blamed, noticed, or tracked. Magic can."

Bellatrix had already gotten distracted. Her eyes flitted down to the bodies and she gave in to her impulse, inhaling the warm smell and bending to have a look, "Bella, don't touch them. "

"Lookie..." she babbled, entranced by the glittering darkness that was cascading from the neck of the smaller man. Rosier scoffed at her, turning away a little. Rodolphus got to her,

"Stop!" He grabbed her arm and pulled her to her full height, rasping, "The passage. We don't have time. Rookwood, Rabastan..."

"Let me! I'll do it" She snapped, returning to her right mind and glaring at the others, "Close your eyes, maybe." Bellatrix raised her wand, standing tall, at the very edge of ledge with the gory water lapping at her toes. Some men turned towards the wall. McNair and Rodolphus watched intently.

The witch threw the spell into the pool. In an instant, the center of the water rose up and then collapsed into itself. Spray shot up in every direction, drenching the walls and the Death Eaters, and the water swirled in the pool, the blood bubbling. Bellatrix screeched rapturously, salt in her mouth, her eyes burning from the mist. With a final jerk of her wand, the surface folded at its churning center. Walls of water rushed up along the edge and hung there like rippling curtains. Bellatrix and Rodolphus immediately leapt through and were followed by the others.

To their surprise, although the water touched them, they were kept dry. It must have been the spell that kept the letters in tact. Inside the tossing ring of water, at the bottom of the pool was an enormous, golden grille. Beyond it, fluttering there, were hundreds of little letters, waiting to fly upwards to the street. The death eaters landed upon the metal, some stumbling. Envelopes flew up around them. There was a great wind from below, as well. Their cloaks whipping, all the death eaters pointed their wands at the grille. They looked to one another,

"Stop yourselves before you hit. Ready?" Bellatrix did not wait for an answer. They cast the spell together. The grate split in half beneath them and hung there when they dropped down.

In a fluttering of cloaks, a whipping of hair, a tossing of limbs, a clanging of metal, the group descended. Rabastan yelped, Rookwood shouted, and Bellatrix cried in delight. Letters rushed up past them as they fell. The corners cut their faces and arms and got stuck in the folds of their robes.

Bella let her head fall back and allowed herself to feel the damp air as it raked through her hair and battered her dress. She cawed like a bird, like a baby bird, flapping happily. Rodolphus grabbed her tossing arm as they tumbled down together. She squeezed her eyes tight and laughed.

It was hard to see where they would land. But Rodolphus realized that they had fallen into a larger chamber,

"Arresto Momentum!" Someone shouted. The others followed suite very quickly. Rodolphus clung to his disoriented wife as the free fall slowed and so did the stream of parchment from beneath them. The Death Eaters floated to the floor. Rabastan was shaking terribly but no one was hurt. Once Bellatrix felt brick beneath her boots, she dropped to the floor and sighed rapidly. Rodolphus let her recover for a moment.

"Get her up." McNair growled, checking to make sure he had not broken his mask,

"Give it a moment." Rodolphus retorted, glaring at him, standing over the woman. Rabastan stood wide-eyed and babbled,

"Doubt many people get to have a look at this." The chamber was actually, quite beautiful. While Rosier raised his wand and shot a long-range spell back up at the pool of water, far above them, to refill it and restore it, the wizards had a look around. They were at the heart of the post system. It was an enormous space with a light glow falling to the floor from high tunnels. Letters swooped in and out of the shadows and shafts of sunlight. It was quiet, except for Bellatrix's giggles and the rustling of paper.

"Come on!" McNair insisted, grabbing the witch's wrist, "Where?" She burped out another laugh, starting to get to her feet, "Where?"

"Let her stand!" Rodolphus barked,

"This is ludicrous! Letting her take charge of an assignment so important as this, I..."

"We cannot afford to fight. Not now. Watch it." Rosier said, crossing his wand with McNair's and speaking slowly. Bellatrix had stood and pushed Rodolphus lightly away,

"I've got it."

"Yes, you do." He concurred, glancing at Mcnair, while she collected herself.

"This way." She said, running off again, towards another, dark passageway. "Hurry." McNair, scowling, was the first to follow her and her husband. They had almost reached the yawning mouth of the final tunnel when some of them cried out. Bellatrix gasped. Their dark marks had flickered with pain. "Run! Nearly there!"

.

Lucius had stayed in the main lift, riding it up and down the height of the Ministry for about fifteen minutes, desperate for anonymity. Then, he had the opportunity. When he was alone in the elevator, he sealed the doors shut with a curse. It stopped at floor six during its ascent, but refused to let any other passengers inside. Lucius had requested that the lift travel to the ninth floor. It obeyed, but again, would not open its doors once it had reached its' destination. That was when Malfoy swung his wand around his head again, enchanting the ceiling of the lift, the gears and cables. He froze the chains above it. It groaned and then hissed and then died. That was when he pressed his wand to his Dark Mark.

He took a breath, the fire in his left forearm dying. And then, Malfoy put a shaking finger to the emergency button. There was a beeping. His head was aching, his blood was hot.

"May I assist you?" Came a witch's voice over the little speaker that was blooming in the corner of the ceiling,

"Yes. This is Lucius Mal-Malfoy." He damned himself for stammering, "There seems to be something quite wrong with the elevator. The doors are sealed shut and it simply isn't moving."

"Don't panic. Try to calm down."

"I'll try." He would try. But it wouldn't work.

"Well, I will alert you when a specialist has removed the anti-apparation spells from the area around you. You may evaporate into the hall when I call again."

"Thank you. I'm on floor three. Not the main lift, the one at the west end..." Just over the Department of Mysteries. He held his breath, hoping that everyone was in place. He held out his wrist again and looked at the brand there, drawing his wand up shakily and letting it hover there, over the Dark Mark. They would need every moment they could get.

He thought of Narcissa. She would be at home, pacing, crying, carrying on, waiting, and flushing with fear. He would find her, sleepless, perhaps around two in the morning when he returned to his home. She would repeatedly tell her how worried she was. He would lie and say that there was no need, that is all went smoothly. And he would tell her how he had regained the Dark Lord's favor. And again they would, maybe, believe that they had made the right choice,

"Mister Malfoy?" Came the crackling voice from the speaker again. He put the tip of his wand to his Dark Mark, sending a shock through himself. He made no sound, "Mister Malfoy?"

"Yes?"

"You may apparrate." He touched his mark again and winced. He would have to stall,

"You're positive I won't splinch?"

"Absolutely."

"I'm quite nervous, I'll be honest."

"Would you like someone to come into the lift and then apparrate with you?" He quickly rolled down his sleeve,

"No, no." He swallowed hard, "Just give me a moment."

"I am so sorry for the trouble."

"Don't be. I apologize for the inconvenience, sir." He couldn't wait any longer, but he knew that they were not ready. Perhaps he was early? Opening this pocket watch with shuddering fingers, he said,

"I just tried. It doesn't seem to be working."

"What's that?"

"Apparating."

"Mister Malfoy, I assure you..."

"I'm worried I'll splinch, I'm terribly sorry, but I just tried and it didn't feel too pleasant so I stopped immediately."

"Would you like someone to come to assist you?"

"No, no. I'll wait. I'll try another charm to open the doors. I wouldn't want someone else to get stuck."

"Well I'll stay on with you." The voice said simply. Lucius leaned up against the wall and rested his head back, closing his eyes. That was when he heard the bricks slam down onto the ceiling above him. He was startled and relieved. They had managed to get through. Lucius gasped, "Mister Malfoy are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm doing just fine, thank you." It would only be moments until Lucius heard the thunder of the other Death Eaters crashing on top of the lift.

.

Bellatrix's delighted scream echoed in the dimness. The dust finally fell away to reveal the smoldering hole in the wall before them. Rodolphus' wand was still sparking a little from the spell he had used to blast through it. Stepping forward, McNair was first to peer down into the shadows of the elevator shaft. All of their forearms were still burning. They were on schedule.

They had wound through the passages swarming with letters and had finally come to a corner of one of the largest chambers where, just beyond the bricks, stood one of the Ministry of Magic's lifts. At the heart of the passage hung a tight spiral of golden chains that ran as far up and down into the inky darkness as the Death Eaters could observe.

"It's three twenty exactly." Rabastan said, examining his watch quickly in the faint wand light.

"So, let's go." Rosier urged anxiously, glancing behind them at the letters fluttering past in the dimness.

"Lightest first." McNair growled, stretching his arms.

Bellatrix nodded and bit down on the edge of her lit wand. Rodolphus watched, shifting. Half of her face was cast into strange shadows as she scurried to the edge of the shaft. He held out his hand in some attempt to steady her. But she was swift and in an instant she had leapt from the jagged edge of the wall. Her robes buffeted around her for a moment while she hung in the black air. Then, she met the golden chains. She yelped a little, clenching her teeth down hard upon her wand. She easily held on to the cold cords and soon wrapped her legs around them.

"All right?" Rodolphus had to ask. She didn't answer, but simply began to repel downwards and into the dark.

"What floor are we on?"

"Five." Said McNair before jumping to the shuddering chains himself.

"It's three twenty two!" Rabastan hissed, "Seven minutes and then Lucius will give up." Rodolphus rushed past his brother and leapt.

.

Bellatrix finally felt the metal of the lift beneath her heels. She let go of the chain and ducked out of the way of McNair, who was lowering himself nearer. Looking up she could see the ghostly lights of ten wands above casting their glow onto the silhouettes of the descending death eaters.

McNair's boot found Bella's shoulder accidentally. She hissed and shoved him off, readying herself.

"Watch it."

"Shut up." He said gruffly, letting go of the cords to stand beside her, "Just go. Just go." By now, Rodolphus had reached them. He got his footing and leaned against the wall, brushing hair out of his eyes and panting. Bellatrix elbowed him a little,

"What?"

"Give me space!"

"Let's go together." Rodolphus suggested, grabbing her arm and pocketing his wand.

"Fine. Fine." She said through her teeth.

"McNair." Rodolphus invited him, quickly, grabbing the executioner's thick wrist with his other hand. McNair raised his wand, but Bellatrix snapped at him,

"I can do it."  
"I hope so." The man challenged,

"Don't be short with me. Not today." With that, she waved her wand and with a fizzing sound, the three disappeared.

.

Lucius, inside the elevator, heard the clanging of steps above him. Finally, what he was truly listening for finally sounded. Someone atop the lift stomped clearly, seven times. And then, all fell quiet,

"I think I have it." Malfoy said to the speaker. His hands were clammy in his white gloves. His heart writhed as he stared up at the small, crystal chandelier on the ceiling that had finally stopped shivering.

"Have a go at it, then, if you can." The voice was sounding bored. Malfoy could only hope everyone had apparrated already. He held out his wand,

"I'm going to apparrate directly to the atrium. I was just about to leave before all this." He licked his lips. Once he joined the others there was no way to explain. No way to explain to the Ministry if he was caught. No way to explain to the Dark Lord if he ran from his fellows. This was the last moment he had to claim something had gone wrong, to go home immediately. Narcissa would be so happy. No, she would be terrified that Voldemort would discover his cowardice. He had to.

"Would you like to check in with someone before..."

"No, I'm all right, thank you." And with a spell, Lucius disapparated.

.

The eleven had apparated into the message channels of the ninth floor. It would have been too much to risk trying to navigate through the mazes without light. Not many envelopes fluttered past the eleven wizards here. And sound was scarce, except for their breathing and occasional comment. They had all gotten through safely and had sat down.

"What?" Rodolphus asked carefully when Bellatrix released a hoarse sigh, "Your legs hurt, too, then?"

"Yes. But..." she replied, tapping her lit wand to her knee, "It's odd without Barty. I so clearly remember everything with Barty. It feels like we slipped back in time before we had apprentices and it was just you and me and Rabastan. France, maybe." Some other men took the opportunity to begin small conversations as well. Their voices buzzed in the tunnel.

"Hm." Rodolphus nodded, adjusting his cloak a little. It was warm in this passage,

"France. Remember waiting in the Hall of Mirrors."

"I do." Rabastan said. He was standing and apparently eavesdropping.

"Yes." Bellatrix continued, glancing at him and then staring back at her wand drumming on her leg, "Before Barty and all of that-that messy...business. But I miss that. I don't know what I miss. I don't really care what I miss because this is important now."

"Hm." Rodolphus hummed again. He was about to say something when Bellatrix turned her head suddenly. She had heard shuffling in the shadows. Her dark eyes opened wide and she whapped her husband's arm.

"Somebody." She exhaled. "Wands out." Bellatrix commanded them as quietly as she could. The men obeyed and turned out their lights.

Standing, using Rodolphus' leg to help her, Bellatrix extended her wand in the inky darkness with the others. A soft glow was building from around the bend. They held their breath. One letter whizzed past them from behind them and startled some of the men. But no one spoke. They all watched the envelope swoop towards the new light in the passage and then disappear from their view beyond the bend.

Lucius appeared, in his work clothes, his brow furrowed. When his spell illuminated the group before him he gasped a little before collecting himself,

"Good." He said, "All eleven of you?'  
"Yes." Bellatrix said confidently, lighting her own wand, "And speak softer, the opening is closer than we thought."

"Ah." Malfoy said, nodding, "May I have a look?"

"Over here." Said Rodolphus, signaling to the other man. Lucius stepped through the crowd,

"Good work." Jugson said to him quietly when he passed with Lestrange.

Rodolphus led Malfoy around a sharp corner and into a larger space. It was a ways away but they could both clearly notice the faint, sapphire light coming up from a patch on the floor. It was a grate, much like the rest that they had encountered, sitting in the center of the chamber. They moved to it silently, putting out the light of their wands again.

The two wizards knelt by the opening. The blue crawled from their foreheads to their shoulders as they leaned to look. Rodolphus pointed.

Lucius had never seen the room below in his entire career at the Ministry of Magic. He was surprised to see how high up they were. Below them was a warehouse, it seemed, lined with monstrous shelves laden with shimmering spheres. The prophecies. There was one wizard quietly looming in one of the aisles, holding a sphere and examining it.

A touch fell upon both of their backs. Lucius choked slightly and Rodolphus whirled, fumbling for his wand. Bellatrix stood there, her dark, shuddering eyes reflecting the ghostly radiance from The Hall Of Prophecy.

"Bellatrix." Rodolphus gasped, shaking his head. Lucius was scrambling already to get to his feet. He rose up before the witch and suddenly began pushing her back. Rodolphus watched as she squawked,

"What?"

"You stupid cow! You stupid bitch!" Lucius spat through his teeth, trying desperately to keep his voice low. Venom seeped through his tone, "What do you mean by surprising us like that?"

"Not my fault you're easily caught off guard." They were shoving at each other and were stepping deeper into the dark, away from the grate. Bellatrix felt her back meet the wall,

"Be careful! We cannot risk anything! You're behaving as if you want to go back to Azkaban!"

"Lucius! No..." Rodolphus' voice came from somewhere to the left of her. Malfoy's breath smelled like tea and cigars and his words burned her face. Bellatrix closed her eyes and felt his cloak bat her legs when he swept off, returning to the others.

Before she could scream at the wizard, a familiar hand pressed up against her face, muffling her profanities and curses. Rodolphus had rushed to her. Even when she bit at his palm, the wizard refused to let go of his wife. She thrashed and to hold her, he had to lean against the stone, sliding down,

"I'm not trying to hurt you." He made sure he felt her breath on his fingers, through her nose and whispered swiftly to her ear. He held her head tightly so she would not twitch and crack her forehead to his. "Just calm down. Be quiet. Calm down. Calm down. We'll curse him tomorrow when all of this is finished. You can tell the Dark Lord that he provoked you. Calm down. Not now. Not now, Bellatrix. Don't let him ruin this for us." They had crumpled to the grime-glossed floor. She bit him once more, pressing her feet down hard and arching to free herself. Rodolphus held her tightly, always making sure she could breathe.

Finally, he felt her relax. Her legs stopped batting the floor and one of her sharp hips crashed down onto his leg.

"We'll curse him." Rodolphus leaned down and assured her, "Let him think you aren't bothered and tomorrow..." She forced breath out of her mouth and onto his palm, "Or maybe if we see his son tonight." Rodolphus noticed that her eyes were wide and gaping up at the dripping ceiling, but her limbs were loose, "Stay calm, please." His voice was not smooth like it used to be and he was ashamed that he could only croak to steady her. He trusted her and took his hand from her mouth, "You know, I know, and the Dark Lord knows why he chose you, darling."

"Don't."

"What?"

"Don't call me 'darling'." She whispered up at him, taking in another enormous breath before rising. "Not right now." Bellatrix offered her hand to help him up.


	14. Rubicon

The parlor sat in silence. Wormtail had long since abandoned his post and had snuffed out all the candles that had been burning there. A half of a moon peeked from behind the clouds, revealing the room through the spaces between the boards on the grubby windows. The food displayed on the table was illuminated by patches of the light, it was untouched.

Suddenly, there was a tearing sound. A thin film of grey mist burst from nowhere and then evaporated as two fraught figures appeared near the base of the staircase. Voldemort's wordless cry shot to all the corners of the room as he threw his shuddering servant from his shoulder. Bellatrix crashed to the wood floor, coughing up frantic sobs. And so they remained, for a moment: Bellatrix writhing in fear by the coffee table and Voldemort, folding over in rage, his robes singed in places, his back heaving.

Then, the Dark Lord, with his spine curved and his torment constricted, and he gave another wordless shriek, baring his sharp teeth. Bellatrix screamed into the floor for a thousand reasons. Voldemort suddenly rose up to his full height, blind with distress, and kicked his servant callously in the ribs. Bellatrix's hollering was choked when her side met the table. She sprawled on the floor, whimpering, clutching her ribs and gasping while her master swept away from her, across the room in the patchwork dimness.

Voldemort's eyes were wild with fury. He first tossed over a standing, electric lamp. The furnishing piece clattered to the ground, the light bulbs within crumbling, the cord flying from the socket. Voldemort quickly whirled again, demolishing the sofa, the drapes, and the china cabinet. When he finally managed to articulate, his sentences were sprayed out of his mouth like bitter medicine,

"That prophecy was everything!"His quaking, white hands latched onto the sides of the well-crafted piece. With disturbing strength, the Dark Lord flung the cabinet over, "_EVERYTHING!"_ He screamed over the shattering.

Bella, having just found her breath, covered her head to avoid the flying shards, ducking behind the arm of the overturned sofa, screeching in distress as he slammed his fist into the front of the grandfather clock. The decorated glass fell away and he disemboweled the thing of its' pendulum. Voldemort hurled the metal at the table on the far side of the room. Bellatrix squealed just before it hit the wood with a scraping sound.

She could hear the glass under his feet when he began to storm to her,

"And you..._ YOU are the one at fault!"_ he charged, hitting her hard across the cheek, towering over her, his ivory face scrunched and sweating, "You are the one to blame..."

"No!" she managed to yelp through her clenched teeth as she felt his hands dig into her scalp.

"Do not lie to me!" Voldemort barked, yanking her to her feet by her dark tresses,

"I'm sorry!" she wailed, eyes, nose, everything stinging, "Master forgive me! Master! Master!" With a jerk of his arm, he flung her away from him. She skidded across the floor in a tangle of hair and limbs. The glass of the china cabinet screamed underneath her as she tumbled. She left the floor red. "Forgive me! FORGIVE ME!" Bellatrix held herself with her tattered arms, bloodying her chest, neck and collar.

"Found out by the Ministry!" He cried, slashing with his hand. There was a clicking and a breaking and the electric chandelier was ripped from its place above them. It swerved down and exploded against the doors, breaking off a doorknob, landing on the floor. The wood splintered. The severed cords above were sparking wildly. Bellatrix was howling with terror and regret and self-hate and pain from the glass and then he drove his heel into her leg, "And the prophecy! And the others! And you!" She felt him leave her again and heard another crash,

"...So, so, sorry..." she managed to gasp pathetically. Her vision flickered, but she could see where he had gone, "I'M SORRY!" Bellatrix began to drag herself to him, groping for the velvety hem of his black robes. He tried to kick her away, "No! NO!" she sobbed, clinging to his ankles, her voice strangled by tears.

Voldemort yelled incoherently, took up the folds of his robes and turned on his heels, sweeping away from his sniveling servant. Bellatrix fell back, putting her back to the base of the ruined grandfather clock, her hands hot and red.

Unable to contain his angle any longer, he gave a long, thunderous yell, and slammed both fists into the wall.

"My Lord! My Lord!" She was screaming.

"I told you, you would die! You will die! You will all die! You have ruined everything! This could have been the world's last chance! You will die!" He thrashed his head and then made a frenzied sweep of his hand.

She heard the clock groan as it tipped above her. She made no move to escape it. Voldemort watched, his jaw clenched, his shoulders shaking. The grandfather clock leaned down and then crashed over the witch.

The wood found her ribs. Glass sprayed onto her face. With gears and springs dripping down over her, Bellatrix gasped in shock. The weight was pressing upon her, robbing her of sound, or words, or breath for an instant. Then, the pain overtook her and she vomited up hideous, tragic noise from the depths of her. And before she could realize what was happening, the clock lifted from her and it landed in a mangled mess near the table. The air rushed over her and she shook in her brokenness, feeling her splintered ribs stabbing at things within her.

She managed to look at him through the static that had overtaken her vision. He had his wand out. She gargled something. She couldn't scream, not yet.

"CRUCIO!" Voldemort shrieked, "CRUCIO! CRUCIO CRUCIO!" Again and again he hexed her. The room was illuminated in flashes of painful red, throwing horrific shadows on the walls of looming furniture pieces, of Bella's flailing form. Voldemort's face fell in darkness one moment and was spattered with the scarlet radiance the next. His eyes gleamed as he stepped nearer and nearer, torturing her relentlessly.

She was flailing and thrashing and twisting and ashamed and reeling and more sorry than ever. The light was wrapping around her broken body. Her bones were searing metal. Her blood was electric. There was nothing but red and pain and the blind oblivion she deserved. She deserved death for failing him. And at least she would die by him. At least she would die alone with him.

"Finite Incantanum." Voldemort breathed. The room fell still and dark again. Bellatrix opened her eyes wide.

Voldemort was standing over her, his wand aimed at her heart.

He gazed down the length of his arm and looked upon Bellatrix. She had been a girl, stupid and willing. She had been a student, eager and talented. She had been a warrior, obedient, unstoppable. She had been a fugitive, devoted and weak. And now, she had failed him. Her body was folded and contorted and shaking. Her hands were twitching powerlessly on the ends of her ruined wrists. Her hair was fanned around her head, a mangled corona. Her pale skin was scarlet and shining. Darkness was flowing out of her mouth, over her lips, down her bruised cheek.

The spell was on his tongue.

An emerald glow had found the end of his wand. It made her blood glisten green.

Voldemort could not kill her.

Suddenly, her numbed nerves were restored. A cool, white overtook her. There was warmth where there had been burning. Her ribs mended. There was breath in her lungs again. She was sure she was dead until her vision cleared enough for Bellatrix to realize that the Dark Lord was performing a shockingly powerful healing charm. Through the warm luminescence around her, she could just observe that he was not looking at her.

When it was over, she breathed onto the powdered glass on the floor, turning on her side and putting a hand to her chest to be sure.

He had turned away entirely, but his voice found her,

"Tell me what happened. Tell me everything in its' entirety. Now. Tell me."

"I...deserve to die, My Lord..."

"You do." He hissed,

"I am not worthy."

"I know you aren't! You don't have to-" Voldemort whirled, glaring at her, spitting his words at her. She sat up, swiftly and gingerly, squinting in fright. His tone was toxic, "Now explain."

"We managed..." she gasped her tale in distress, "we managed to get in. The elevator was fine. We met the children. Lucius was no help. Lucius didn't think what I did was right. We met Potter-potter he...he had gotten the prophecy and...we expected it to go smoothly...and then he and his, " she swallowed, babbling to the floor, raking her hands over her face, "his little-his little group, they began breaking everything and they ran. So, we scattered. We ended up in, uh, uh...we met them all again in this chamber with a veil. Lucius said-for death experiment...Lucius said it was for experiments with death. The prophecy must have broken! It must..." She began to cry,

"Who."

"I don't know! I don't know! I don't..." He kicked her, "I don't know! I'm...Potter told me later. But then I killed my cousin. I killed Sirius. I killed him! I killed Sirius!"

"I don't care."

"I...no. You...Then. Then. Then. I ran. Lucky I ran. Unlucky. I...I ran when Dumbledore came I ran before he could get me. So I ran to leave...then Potter followed and I thought I could get him for you, I thought I could get him, even if the prophecy...I...almost and then you. Then you! Then you!" She began to smile as she wept, falling on her hands and knees and beaming at him with pieces of glass drizzling out of her hair, "Then you, My Lord. You came for me. You heard! You heard me! You were there. You...You...I thought, when Dumbledore. There was a moment. You and Dumbledore. No! No! I was scared. Master! Master..."

"Be quiet Bella." Voldemort exhaled, glaring. She bit her lip and shook; her face was flooded with tears that began to clean the blood away. "It's lost? The prophecy?"

"That's just what Potter told..."

"And no one else escaped."  
"I didn't see, My Lord." She coughed a little and he left her, striding to the center of the destroyed room. He walked away over steaming wood, glowing chords, battered crystal. And then, Voldemort waved his wand.

Bellatrix watched the as the parlor was resurrected around him. The chandelier collected itself and soared to its place on the ceiling, the banisters realigned themselves. The sofa rose up and turned itself over. The doors lost their dents. The lamps rose up again. Demolished china fluttered and spun back to the restored cabinet. Glass left in her neck and arms left her, the grandfather clock shifted and repaired behind her. Screws flocked past her, the pendulum soared by, and then he was finished.

Voldemort stood in the peacefulness, staring at the darkest part of the doors, failure engulfing him. He turned his wand over and over in his hands, picturing her there, crouching across the room behind him, willing to die, ready to die, deserving to die. And he could imagine the spell. He could imagine the emerald light in her black eyes. And she should be dead. He should be alone.

Voldemort heard her crawl to him. He felt the coolness of the blood on her fingers when she took his hand. She had gone to kneel at his side.

"My Lord, please. Kill me." The witch tempted, "My Lord, kill me. I cannot..." And Bellatrix's voice was stolen by her sorrow. He stared ahead in the shadows. She gripped his hand, weeping, "I am ashamed."

"Rightfully so." He replied coldly,

"So let me die." Her grasp tightened,

"Let you?" Voldemort seethed, "Let you die? No one is allowed to die. You would be forced to die."

"Living in this disgrace would be worse..."

"Do you know what it's like to die? Killing is not an act of mercy. It is never an act of mercy." Finally, his eyes met hers. Voldemort jerked his hand away, staring down at her, "Nothing is worse. And I will kill you. Because that is what you deserve. That is what I assured you would happen. When the others return from Azkaban, perhaps." The word made her fold over and wail into her knees. He turned from her again, staring with his eyes unfocused, at some spot near the banister.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry...Master, I'm sorry." Her begging was muffled and small and he could not hear it.

Voldemort heard nothing except for a pleading from the deepest corner of him that cried for Bellatrix to touch his fingers again,

"No!" He barked at the ceiling.

She hung her head to continue crying silently. She could not bear to look at him. He had trusted her. If she hadn't been so distracted. If she hadn't focused on Sirius. If she had gotten the prophecy. Had she waited fifteen years to ruin the cause she had been imprisoned for? She recalled his face when he saw her from the stairs, new to her and familiar to her and for once overcome with amazement and joy at seeing her. Even just hours ago he had gazed upon her with this divine confidence, this empowering faith.

She rose up. Voldemort sensed her moving near. He drew in a breath. She passed by, through the shafts of moonlight, a bloody phantom of what she had been that afternoon, moving across the warehouse with the sun behind her. Bellatrix went to the fireplace, sniveling and shaking. Reaching for the pot on the mantle she began to draw out a fist full of floo powder.

"What are you doing."

"I want to go to Azkaban, My Lord." She decided and looked at the dust in her hand.

"You will not." He commanded quietly,

"Please..."

"Why? Do you long for the others already."

"No."

"Selfish. Delusional."

"No...Please...Yes. Yes, I am." And she let the floo powder seep through her fingers and spatter her scuffed shoes. "My Lord I...I cannot stand to be here."

"You don't deserve to be here."

"I'd rather stay in prison than be here when-when I have failed you."

"You will serve me." He said abruptly, She stared at him for a moment, blinking, "As long as you are alive. You will have to try and regain your honor..."

"I...If you would allow me to, I..."

"I rescued you for a reason." He had several reasons, "You are not like Lucius. You are not like the others. You will do good no matter the circumstances. I spared you from the Ministry and I have now spared you of your rightful fate. You owe your life to me."

"Always." She blurted, wringing her hands together and staring at him. She didn't need to be reminded, "I am nothing without you, my Lord. I've always known that, always."

"But I know you should be dead. It pains me now to see you breathing, standing..." Voldemort expressed icily and Bellatrix folded a little under his gaze, "Try to redeem yourself."

"My Lord..." He held up his hand,

"Don't you dare think Azkaban is an option for you,"

"It was wrong of me, weak of me..."

"You don't need to tell me. I know. Now, you must stay with me and endure me if you are to live. The others will be punished also, perhaps to greater degrees, but I know your heart, Bella. This will ruin you, I will see to that."

"Yes, Master."

"I will see to that..." He repeated for himself.

She had been plagued by nightmares of dementors, of prison cells, of shackles lacing her legs. Azkaban had been the heart of her fears. There had been no greater horror, until now. Bellatrix realized that being without him had been heaven compared to this because at least she knew he still favored her, trusted her, cared. Now, free and alone with him at last, Bellatrix felt as though her soul had been finally extracted from her. She was dead to him. And as much as he said that death was the end, the worst. Shuddering there, with her tears paining her, Bellatrix realized that for her, mortality was nothing compared to the sting of his hatred for her.

And so she stood there, by the fireplace and brushed the last of the powder out of her hand miserably. Bellatrix watched Voldemort stride slowly into the shadows by the dining table.

"Months..." He moaned to himself, his breath quickening, "Years for this. For what? For ruin." Voldemort was in a dizzying distress. Self-hatred for being unable to kill her had been, apparently, a distraction. He discovered that once the idea of such petty business with her was overtaken by his grief at losing the prophecy, the Dark Lord was consumed with a most dangerous shuddering.

Bellatrix could feel the magic pulsing from across the room while she tried to wipe some of the drying blood from around her mouth. There was a buzzing sound slowly taking the parlor. With his every breath, the air throbbed with a devastated power that she felt deep in her breast like the hammering of some distant explosion.

Voldemort had to put his hand to the wall to steady himself; his heart was squeezing a hideous, vengeful magic inside of him. When his fingers pressed against the wood, when he let the wall take his weight, the scorched, slanting pictures on the walls quaked, the glass of the windows twitched, and the lamps shook, some of them sending blue sparks from broken bulbs. When he finally spoke softly to himself again, his anger had slowed his trembling sentences,

"If it had not been for Dumbledore..." He took a breath and closed his eyes, the wood inside the wall creaked and snapped somewhere, "...the boy would have surely died. Not even an hour ago." Bellatrix gave a wild shriek when the windows burst to pieces and the boards there snapped off, too. Voldemort stood as the noise finally ceased. Bellatrix was panting, with her back pressed up against the wall, her eyes shut while she babbled incoherent apologies.

The night wind rushed into the space, rustling the lace tablecloth, making the restored crystals on the chandelier bash against each other. Voldemort, his robes buffeting at his heels, turned, his lips taught and neck tense.

"We will have to leave here." He said, finally leaving the shadows. She was still shocked, "We will have to leave." Voldemort repeated for her while she opened her eyes carefully,

"Leave..."

"At last."

"Tonight?"

"Yes. We cannot afford to gamble that they will not inform the Ministry."

"My Lord, where?" Bellatrix asked, still unmoving from her place against the opposite wall,

"Germany, for the week. The Black Forrest."

"Tonight..." She repeated,

"Then to Lucius' home." Voldemort looked up the stairs and into the shadows and then gazed upon Bellatrix, bloody and still rather bruised, "Bella, come here." She obeyed, but found her legs numb with terror and shame and devotion. When she had stumbled to him, he held out his wand. "Your mark." She readily displayed her forearm, rolling the soiled sleeve of her dress. He took her wrist harshly, making her hiss in surprise, and then he drove the tip of his wand into the searing brand. She did not make a sound. Bellatrix took in the pain and looked to his face He did not even glance at her until he let go.

They stood in silence and awaited Wormtail. Voldemort caught her eyes, glanced away viciously and then stared at her,

"Look away. I cannot stand you." He told her. Bellatrix folded her left arm to her chest as her shoulders fell. She turned from him. He watched her bloodied hair fall into her face,

"My Lord..." Wormtail's voice came before they saw him.

He hurried from the darkness atop the staircase and stopped when he found the parlor empty. He had heard the shouting and the shattering. He knew that something must have gone wrong and he knew he'd find the parlor broken or burned. But he did not expect the two of them alone. He dared not inquire as to whether anyone else had returned. Was Bellatrix the only one?

"We're leaving. Gather my things from the fourth floor. Get your things. Put everything we want to take to the roof. You have one hour. We'll apparrate from there."

"Where, My Lord?" The man shifted where he stood. He noticed Bellatrix. Her face was uncut but blotched with darkness that had dripped down her neck. What had gone on at the Ministry? Where were the others? The Dark Lord had left so suddenly...

"The Black Forrest. Be quick. My belongings first." Voldemort explained swiftly. Wormtail nodded and turned to go, "We'll be burning the house."

"Of course, My Lord." And the small man was gone again.

When Voldemort looked to her again, Bellatrix had sunk down to the floor. She had buried her head in her knees. Her back was curved and shaking. He could see her pale, sometimes scarlet skin and a sliver of her corset through the tears that the glass had clawed in her dress. He kicked her lightly,

"Get up." He murmured coldly. She did not look to him, but he saw tears dripping off her chin when she stood on her wavering legs, "You're so weak." She put her hand up to eyes to hide herself.

The house held memories for her. The house was where she had made all of her newest memories, her clearest. Perhaps burning it all would be best. She could begin again. But she was not so sure she wanted another beginning. She had just finished her latest. She had at last felt ready. She had finished beginning again. In one day it was lost. In one evening he had come to hate her.

Voldemort looked at her, turned from him, weeping like some stranger, a fragile witch. Her dainty hand was petrified, frozen and bloodstained over her face. He breathed deeply, for some reason unable to move.

"I'm afraid." She finally exhaled, curling further, her weeping finding a hoarse sound in her tired throat.

"Of what."

"I don't know. I don't know. I don't know!"

That struck him. She did not know it. He knew that he himself feared exactly that. He feared what he did not know and could never know. It was why he could not, for a moment, be in total darkness and at ease. It was why he had fled death. It was why he had never...

"I don't know!" She wailed hysterically, "Master..."

"You have nothing to fear but me. You've never had anything to fear but me."

"It's a different afraid." Part of him didn't want her to go on. Part of him didn't want..."I used to fear you, I still fear you, but I used to fear you and know that you would always...as long as I..."

"I will not let you suffer by any other hand." He managed, sickness finding the core of him when she turned her face to him slightly, letting her hand smear down over her mouth to contain her terrified moans. Voldemort looked away, red gaze darting about and finally landing upon the towering grandfather clock. Their shadows were reflected in the glass that shielded the still pendulum. The reflection echoed another. His hand went to his wand immediately. He would kill her, now. He'd shoot the spell at her white neck. This was too much of a burden.

She began to breathe easier before him, wiping at her eyes,

"I am weak. Forgive me, My Lord." She choked. Voldemort calmed himself, some how. He begged himself to kill her and promised himself he wouldn't, "My Lord, I'm so glad I'm with you. As horrible as it feels." Bellatrix finally turned her face up at him. Her expression was marred with blood and tears and mangled with desperation. The gusts through the windows tugged at her hair, blowing some of it over her neck. The Dark Lord towered over her, chest rising and falling rigidly, taking her in and trying to ignore her, "I'm not worthy, my Lord."

"You really aren't." He assured her and himself of that, but he took his fingers from his wand and commanded, "Get your things."

"Th-thank you." She sobbed quietly, gazing at him reverently through her blurred, round, rosy, stinging eyes. He nodded. It was easy for her to turn away. It had never felt good before. But to feel his stare leaving her while she strode slowly to the stairs was liberating.

Then, Voldemort's hand closed around her right arm. Bellatrix gasped. All was still.

Her heart was loud in her head as she felt his fingers pressing, sliding up to her shoulder in a stiff, uneven movement that dragged the sleeve of her dress up in the slightest. His touch stopped at her collar for a moment. Everything was static in her head. The heat of his hand was foreign. Bellatrix stood still. She dared not look. She dared not move. Something was being torn apart in the darkest depths of her. She was drowning, she was sure of it, but she couldn't think of that, because all she knew was the weight of his hand there on her right shoulder.

Voldemort did not breathe. He watched his fingers move beyond the curtain of her matted hair. He felt the seam on the shoulder of her dress, felt her blood barely seeping through the fabric onto his palm. And he felt her collarbone there, the coolness of skin, felt her breath rising and falling unevenly, perhaps in panic. In between her silent, wild gasps he felt a heart shuddering somewhere.

Perhaps she though he meant to strangle her. Perhaps he should...

Bellatrix felt his touch leave her suddenly. He had jerked his hand away, scratching her neck with one of his nails. She didn't feel it. She stood, paralyzed, terrified to glance behind, head screaming a hundred thoughts, heart shooting cold blood through her quaking veins, lungs shaking. The ghost of his fingers was still haunting their path upon her.

Then, the cold of his wand was at her back.

He had to. Now he must.

She stared ahead, trembling everywhere.

She must die.

Bellatrix felt the pressure of the point on her spine.

Death after that moment would be...

"Get your things, Bella." Came Voldemort's voice. He took a breath and he pocketed his wand swiftly, backing away, his eyes cold. There was a horrible, bludgeoning silence. Finally, the Dark Lord repeated, "Get your things."

Bellatrix ran blindly up the stairs.


	15. Serpent In The Gardens

"Draco...fetch tea. Would you? Please?"

"Of course, mum." He obliged quietly. She noticed her son give a glance to the portrait of his father on the wall when he turned to go. And then, Narcissa fell back into a fit of weeping.

The boy stepped into the sunlit corridor, the painful notes of his mother's hopeless crying escorting him from the bedroom. Before he shut the door, he gave one more look to the woman, sobbing at her husband's desk in the darkness. Then, he was alone in the hall, but her muffled moaning seeped through the walls.

Draco ran a hand over his face and leaned against the wall for a moment, listening to his mother. The Ministry officials, the aurors, they'd been so horrible to her. She wasn't a death eater. They treated her as if she were his father's accomplice. If only they knew. If only they knew the arguments that had shaken the mansion when Lucius had fought to keep dangerous information from her. How she begged to know, how he refused for her own good.

Draco had known even less than his mother. He didn't even know that his father was intending on infiltrating the Department of Mysteries. He had just seen the paper at breakfast, gotten his mother's letter at school. Summer would not be the same without his father. The house would not be the same without his father. His mother would not be the same without his father. Nothing would be the same without his father.

The sun was garish in the stretching hallway. When the boy began his way towards the kitchens, the light threw his shadow before him. It towered on the polished floor in front of him as he went. Draco descended the wide, marble staircase winding down the center of the house. The howling of his despairing mother left him, however, a new sound found his ears. At first, he could barely make it out over the clacking of his shoes on the fine stone steps, but when he stopped, mid-way between the third and second floors, Draco realized what he heard.

It seemed that the piano in the second floor sitting room was being played. It was irritating, truly. Draco assumed that whoever had enchanted it had done a truly dreadful job. Whatever was being played was being brutalized. It sounded like a distressed interpretation of Mozart, perhaps the Fantasia in D minor that he had been trying to fiddle with over the winter holidays.

The notes were biting and echoed in the sunlit space. Draco set out to silence them. He strode down the last of the steps and into the passage that led to the sitting room. As he neared the noises, he cursed his old house elf for running off and he pitied his mother further. Perhaps she had been the one to ask the piano to play. Perhaps her magic was weaker when she was so torn apart...

Draco lazily took out his wand and approached the dark, polished doors. They were open. Someone was humming over the broken chords of the piano. Now that he was concentrating, he could hear it.

His fingers clamped down upon his wand. He stood still for a moment, feeling his breath being forced up out of his chest. An auror? A death eater? A new elf? His father. He was being ridiculous. The boy swallowed hard and stepped through the towering doorframe and into the garish sunlight of the sitting room.

"Who are you?" Draco spat, extending his arm, glaring. The air was tight in his throat.

She looked up at him after beating a few more sour notes into the keys with her spindly, middle finger. At first glance she was a stray shadow, amongst the pale sunbeams, that the light had not chased away. When she turned her face to him, he pressed his lips together, willing himself to look into her shaking, black eyes. Her fingers dripped off the piano at last. He thought she was going to reach her wand, but instead, the witch put her hand to her heart,

"Draco..." The woman's voice was a shattered whisper, dark and deep and destroyed. He hated hearing his name from her throat, "My, my, my, my, my..." She cooed, her face soft, "Look at you."

"Who are you?"

"You don't remember? You really don't?"

"No. I don't." He said, trying to steady himself as she neared,

"Well, you wouldn't. How could you? You were fifteen years younger. You were just a little one. I'm your auntie." He had never met either of his mother's sisters. "Bellatrix. Put your wand down, my love. Stand properly. Let me see you. Let me look at you."

"Mum!" He blurted, turning over his shoulder and calling into the hallway, "Someone is here for you!" He knew she couldn't hear. When he looked back to the dark haired woman, she was closer, smiling. He could see her graying teeth, now "You want to see my mother?" He recovered, somehow managing to lower his wand and look at his aunt. She was tall, about as tall as he was. The sun on half of her face seemed strange, it cast a strange blackness around one of her darting eyes and it illuminated the discolored skin of her right cheek,

"Yes, eventually. But first I want to see you, of course. Oh..." She fawned in her strange tone, "Draco. So like your father. Incredibly like him."

"I think I should tell my mother that you are here." He tried, "She'll be very happy to see you." Then, Draco was in her thin arms. Her hair smelled powerfully of fire and trees and dirt. Her neck was cold on his. Had she been running from the Ministry? Of course. And what if they had followed her here. What if they found her here…

"The family together again, right?" She was babbling. What if an auror was watching now, from somewhere, some how? No. Her shaky hands were strangely shifting on his back.

"Yes. Wait here." The boy insisted, pulling back and moving out of the sunlight sitting room.

"Here?"

"It will be more comfortable for you." Draco said from the hall, glancing back at her. She was sort of hunched and staring, slowly retracting her arms and twiddling her fingers together. There was madness wafting from her. This dizzying, disjointed magic that he had never been alone with. His mother never mentioned that. His mother always talked of power, of grace, of danger, yes, but never some unhinged sickness. It must have happened in prison. Draco thought of his father in Azkaban,

"Quite the gentleman."

"Thank you. I'll be back in a minute." The moment he left her alone, he thought he regretted it. What if she ran off somewhere in the house. What if she disappeared?

Draco swept down the hallway, the light in his face, and illness in his stomach. He rounded the corner towards the steps, his heels echoing, scuffing as he went as quickly as he could. He hated how silent the house had suddenly become around him, but he'd rather this strange quiet than the deranged music of his aunt.

.

Narcissa was exactly where he had left her, slumped at her husband's desk, with her blond hair left down so it was shielding her shimmering, rosy face. She had stopped crying. She was just staring at the tearstained papers before her, unmoving. The witch was so still, in fact, that in the indigo dimness she could have been just another piece of furnishing.

When the light from the hall fell upon her back, she shifted,

"Mum." At his voice she turned, fumbling for her handkerchief,

"Tea already, dearest?" How he wished.

"No." Draco said, his voice sticking in his throat. He shut the door behind him, afraid that if he left it open, he'd turn back to find Bellatrix Lestrange's wild shadow there in the corridor. His mother was wiping her shining nose daintily,

"What is it?" She voiced, "You look..."

"Somebody is here." Draco managed.

"No." Narcissa threw her handkerchief to the desk, frantic fear and fire in her pale eyes, "No! They promised no more police!"

"Mum!" Draco took her shoulder before she could begin crying again, "Mum..." He squeezed her arm tight while her face twisted up. She breathed and he said slowly and quietly, "It's not the police. It's aunt Bellatrix." Narcissa turned up to stare at him. Her face had become smeared with horror,

"Here?"

"The sitting room, mum. I tried...I don't know what she wants. She was just in there, playing the piano..."

"She has to leave."

"I know."

"Now. Right now." Narcissa leapt up, her heart twisting. Wrapping her housecoat tighter, she hurried to the other side of the room, to her enormous, antique vanity that loomed over her polished dresser. The woman didn't sit, but she waved her hand and the lights around the mirror began to glow. Her wand was in her hand immediately and with a flick of it, she began pinning up all of her long curls. Suddenly, though, she crumbled, "Draco. Draco I can't..." She turned to him again, with her hair half finished, her face ashen, gesturing wildly, stiffly, "I can't do this. I can't see her now. I don't want to see her...Not now. No." Her voice was stretched, small, and needy and unlike he had ever heard it, "Draco..." She put a hand over her face and steadied herself on the dresser sobbing into her palm.

He took her in his arms immediately and let her press her face to his shoulder. Her legs were weak in her distress; he was almost holding her up. Her housecoat smelled like perfume and her devastated embrace was incredibly unlike her sister's.

"Do you want me to tell her off? I can just tell her to go..."

"No, Draco." Said Narcissa, lifting her head and moving away a little, deciding, "What am I doing. You shouldn't have to be taking care of me. I can do it. I can. I'm going to." And she moved back to the mirror to finish her hair, breathing deeply, "Get me that dress by the bed." He obeyed while she began to wipe her face with a tissue. "She can't be here."

"I know."

"And I'll tell her." Narcissa said pointedly as she began to powder her face furiously. Draco lifted her robes from the bed; they were light, mint colored, happier than she was. "Oh..." She said when he looked back at her, nearing, "She'd never come here uninvited if he were here." Draco didn't know what to say. He knew it was true,

"Well..." he began, but couldn't think of a comfortable lie. She wouldn't want one anyway.

Narcissa gazed into her own eyes in the mirror. The make-up couldn't hide anything. She was ruined. Even so, she began to apply lipstick, slowly, to lips that might not be kissed for months, years...

"You'll stay here."

"Mum, no. I'm coming, too."

"All right." She wanted him with her, "Turn around, sweet heart. Give me a minute." He did, of course, and let her change clothes.

The light from her mirror illuminated new corners of his parents' bedchamber. The ceiling was so high that it was still clouded with shadows, but Draco could now see that his mother still hadn't rearranged the things in the room that his father had left the morning that he left. A drawer was still open with a sleeve of one of his father's fine shirts dripping over the side. One of Lucius' watches sat ticking and ownerless on the nightstand. He thought that he couldn't bring himself to even glance at the family photographs on the wall. But he did. He had to. He always had to.

There they were, in the largest, silver frame, the three of them together. His mother aglow, with her eyes bright, hair glossy. She was wearing one of her best dresses, one Lucius always liked. He had his arm around her. Draco himself was there, too, between them. He was younger, much younger, with no worry in his face. And his father, Lucius, stood taller than both of them, of course, with a proud stance, decorated robes, his head shifting slightly and gracefully, nodding to the photographer.

"Draco, whatever happens between my sister and I, just don't speak up. Don't say anything. Don't get on bad terms with her." Narcissa said quietly, touching her son's shoulder. Draco looked at her,

"I won't."

"Let her get angry with me if she gets angry at anyone." She said, touching his face quickly and moving to the door. Draco hoped she was not being literal. He followed.

The moment Narcissa opened the door, the sound rushed to greet them like wind blowing in their faces,

"Cissy! Ciiiiiissy!" Bellatrix's ghostly voice had flooded the corridor, ricocheting off the polished floors and high ceilings like a trapped bird. Draco saw his mother's shoulders rise up and she swiftly spun with her teeth clenched and tried to return to the gloom of the bedroom,

"Draco I can't."

"We have to." He held her arms for a moment. It was so odd, having to help her. She was emotional before, but only about things that made her happy, usually. At hard times, stressful, trying times, she always had this gloriously cool air about her. But now, he supposed, she didn't have anyone to encourage her. Now, she only had a son.

"I can't..." And then she took a breath, deciding, "I'm sorry, dear. Come on." And she turned once again and marched into the corridor, her beautiful robes trailing elegantly, aiding to her blatant air of false bravado.

"Ciiiiissy!"

"Coming, Bella!" Narcissa managed, feeling her son's hand touch her back as they walked.

"Cissy!" The tone had changed,

"Stay put, Bella!" Narcissa chirped as merrily as she could. They were almost to the curve in the hallway; they were almost to the staircase. Squinting in the glare, Narcissa took a breath and began to descend with her son. She could now hear Bellatrix shifting somewhere below; the witch's boots were making scuffling noises on the steps.

"The house looks better than ever. Better than I remember..." The other witch's strange voice erupted up from the center of the spiral stairs. Draco paused, letting his mother walk ahead, and he dared to peer over the iron railing. She was there, Bellatrix was there on the steps somewhere between floors two and three, and she was peeking up at them, leaning over the railing herself,

"Oh!" She saw her nephew, of course, "Draco! Hello..."

"Draco..." Narcissa begged for him to stay at her side. He gladly pulled away and out of Bellatrix's sight to return to his mother.

"Did you hear me, Cissy? I said the house looks very lovely..."

"Yes I..." And now they heard Bellatrix's heavy footsteps coming to meet them from below. Narcissa's pace wavered and she looked to Draco, who had to feign a look of assurance for her. Deep inside, though, his stomach was shaking, "Thank you."

And there she was again. First, came her wild head, then her emaciated middle, and finally, the length of her dark robes. She had lifted the front of her skirt to climb the steps and revealed a glimpse of her twiggy legs and torn stockings. Then she was staring at them and she flung her arms open,

"Cissy." She rasped, eyes as kind as they could be.

Draco watched, leaning on the wall, as his mother slowly went to the other witch. They were of entirely opposite aesthetics. Narcissa was laced together neatly, carefully, while her dark-haired sister looked windblown and battered. However, when they were in front of each other, Draco saw how the two witches resembled each other. In Bellatrix he could see Narcissa's visage if it had been demolished. He shuddered. Bellatrix's face was almost like the corpse of his mother's beauty.

When the sister's embraced each other, there on the stairs with the blinding sunlight behind them, something occurred. Draco watched. The moment Narcissa felt the other witch's frail arms fold around her, she began to sob silently upon Bellatrix's shoulder. The younger witch suddenly pulled her sister closer to her, embracing her like she had embraced her years ago, before Azkaban.

Narcissa didn't know what had broken her. All she could comprehend was that Bellatrix's familiar shoulder on her cheek had coaxed up all the misery in her. She wouldn't let Draco hold her, she couldn't ever. She was there to hold him. But Bellatrix had been a pillar, a shoulder, before Narcissa had even known Lucius' name. And now, as almost spectral as her sister's embrace was, she felt some sort of comfort in it. So, Narcissa squeezed her eyes shut, letting tears fall into the other witch's smoke-filled, matted hair.

"I'm here, Cissy." Bellatrix's ruined voice hissed in her ear gently. Narcissa drew back and wiped her eyes,

"What do you want?" She asked. Draco could only stare. He had never known his aunt or even of the bond she had with his mother.

"A place to stay." Bellatrix said bluntly, blinking a few times,

"Bellatrix – "

"Cissy."

"I would love to..."

"Good! My things are downstairs..."

"But I can't. I..." She sucked in a breath and looked down at her hands. Draco saw Bellatrix's eyes change,

"'Course you could." She said quickly, "Got plenty of space. You've got plenty of food..."

"Bellatrix, I know." Narcissa started,

"What's the trouble?"

"The Ministry. Bella, you're a wanted witch. After this disaster with..." she couldn't bring herself to say it, "I can't risk it."

"Risk what?" Bellatrix took up the railing, leaning upon it. She wasn't ignorant. Draco knew. She was being dangerously passive, "Risk what?" She repeated,

"Everything."

"If you had a Dark Mark you wouldn't say that." She gripped the iron hard, her fingers coiling around it,

"And they'll assume you're here! You're my sister, Bellatrix. Of course I'd want to help you if you came asking..." She paused and looked up wildly, with a fear Draco had never known his mother to possess, "How do I know you aren't an auror, even? How do I know you aren't some wizard who has taken polyjuice potion to come and test me? Those are the things I have to think about, now, Bella!" She suddenly began to fish in her pocket for her handkerchief,

"I'm not an auror..."

"I know. I know." Narcissa wiped her eyes furiously, "I'm not nervous enough yet to...I'm close...but I...Bella, you can't."

"I can."

"But I can't let you."

"You can."

"Bella. No. You know how dangerous it would be."

"For you."

"For both of us." Narcissa warned, "If they found us together."

"They won't."

"How can you know?"

"The Dark Lord promised."

"I..."

"You can't doubt the Dark Lord." Bellatrix said dangerously, seriously. "Now where will your elf be putting my things."

"We don't have an elf and...No. Not now. At least, not this moment. I need to consider..."

"You want me to go back out there?"

"What?"

"I just spent two weeks in the Black Forrest and I'd do it again for an eternity if the Dark Lord ordered it. But, now he's ordered me to come here. If you refuse me he'd have to go through the trouble of relocating me. Or maybe he'd just turn me loose, off on my own for as long as it took you to decide. And what-and what then?" Her voice was rising, her chest was rising, and Draco saw Bellatrix's hand flit to her wand, tied at her hip, "So where will your elf be taking my things."

"I told you, we don't have an elf." Narcissa uttered, shaking. Then, she bit down on her lip and turned her face up, "You know, Bella. You're used to things like this, very...intense, very important things. You always handled them with...grace." Draco could tell his mother was trying not to scream, "I, however, have led a less exciting existence, I suppose. I cannot handle this pressure."

"So, you see, you can't stay tonight." Draco blurted and immediately regretted it. Bellatrix had turned her dark eyes on him.

"Draco..." Narcissa hissed.

Bellatrix just stared at him. And she licked her chapped lips. And she turned her head a little,

"You look like your father, Draco." She hummed, "But you don't have to behave like him...stepping in when you aren't involved, when you are ill-informed."

"Don't." Narcissa said quietly. Bellatrix gave a little nod to her nephew and then looked back to her sister,

"The Dark Lord wants me to stay here. He wouldn't leave me unprotected. You have to trust his magic like Lucius and I do. If he wants to keep me safe, he will..."

"He couldn't keep Lucius safe."

"Lucius couldn't keep himself safe."

"And could you? How were you the only one..."

"The Dark Lord spared me. I trust the Dark Lord even beyond my own-my own powers." And Bellatrix coughed a bit and then continued, "He's protected the house already."

"I can't do this! Not now!" Narcissa exploded, rushing past her sister and down the stairs, "You need to leave. Now. Get your things out and go. Please, Bellatrix. I can't do this..." Bellatrix was fast to follow her, wobbling after her. Draco hesitated, but followed the women. His aunt was screeching,

"If it were me who had acres and acres of gardens, and a mansion, and a better life, I'd be helping you! And you know it!"

"No!" Narcissa hurried down the stairs, the sunlight rushing by, her legs becoming numb with distress,

"If you were serving the Dark Lord, I'd do anything for you because I'd do anything for him! If you don't help me..."

"Bellatrix, I can't!"

"This is the least you can do after what Lucius has done!"

"Stop it, Bella!" They had reached the first floor. The entry way sprawled before them. Narcissa flew across the dark, marble tiles, drawing her wand and casting a spell towards the pile of mud-stained luggage near the doorway. The entry way and the adjoining parlor had gorgeous, high ceilings, lined with lengthy windows. All of the curtains were drawn tightly shut, however. So, the ornate expanse sat in shadow,

"I care about you, Cissy." Bellatrix said from the staircase. Draco stopped just behind his aunt, and drew his wand, just in case,

"Go. Please." Narcissa said, whirling and glaring at her sister,

"I care about you and not letting me stay might make the Dark Lord very upset at you and he is upset already. And rightfully so..."

"Another day, perhaps. Please, go. Stay with the Rosiers." Finally, Narcissa waved her hand and opened the enormous doors, letting sunshine burst inside.

Suddenly the luggage dropped to the tile with a thud. Narcissa lowered her wand, gasping, going paler, and feeling nothing but her heart tantrum in her chest. Her arms were numb; her tongue was thick in her mouth with shock. Everything went quiet as a wizard, who had been calmly standing on the patio, entered the house without a word.

Though, with the light behind him, he was simply a shadow, Bellatrix knew immediately who he was. Draco did, too. The boy watched the wizard step through the doorway,

"My Lord." Bellatrix greeted him.

Voldemort glanced up at her and then shut the door behind him with a flick of his wrist. The chamber was cast into darkness again. He turned to the witch beside him,

"Narcissa." The woman was cowering before him, a hand on her heart, the other holding tight to the paneling of the door. She was breathing shallowly, but standing tall and still, "I have business with you."

"Yes, sir?" She managed, looking anywhere but his scarlet eyes. He was wearing heavy, dark robes. His face was terribly pale. He was more of a monster than the man she had known years ago, but the energy around him could never be mistaken.

"Alone."

"Yes, sir." She breathed. Draco felt her fear. What if this was the last time he would see her alive? What if he would be left alone? What if the Dark Lord would take her away and the next thing he'd hear of his mother is that her corpse had been tossed to his father through the bars piece by piece. She looked to him and Draco felt something fiery welling up inside of him. He wanted to scream. It was dizzying,

"Your son will take Bellatrix to a guest room." Voldemort instructed, his soft voice sweeping the space. Draco would not look away from his mother,

"Come along." Bellatrix said from a little ways away, "Show me to a room, love." But her voice was muffled by the ringing in the young man's ears, the static screaming in his chest,

"Let me say goodbye to my son, My Lord, please...please..." Narcissa blurted,

"No need."

"Please!"

"There is no need." Voldemort said coldly, definitely, "You think you would die by my hand? Arrogance..."

"Ignorance. Forgive me." Now, she looked away from her son and at her shuddering hands,

"Perhaps." He hissed. Narcissa felt his eyes cast their shadow all over her, "I must speak with you alone."

"Of course."

"Come along." Bellatrix croaked sweetly,

"Draco, get her things." Narcissa managed, managing another desperate glance at her son before the Dark Lord turned to sit in the parlor and she had to follow.

Draco's levitation charm was a nervous one. The huge trunks shook and shifted as they floated behind him and his aunt. Bellatrix slid her hand up the railing the entire way, babbling about things Draco couldn't think about. He was blinded by the image of his mother's pale face, deafened by the silence and space in his house, and muted by the shadow of the Dark Lord at the door.

"Here." Draco opened the door for his aunt and summoned the lamps to burn. She nodded in thanks and entered the bedroom, trailed by her quaking, weathered luggage.

"Thank you, sweetie." Draco set her things by the long, oak dresser and watched her examine the room. First, she went to one of the arching windows and tore back the blinds. She jolted when the brightness fell on her and then gave a little laugh, "Oh, just like I remember."

"Do you need anything?"

"I'm very hungry." She said, turning a little and then gazing back through the glass at the gardens far below. Draco had made sure the room he chose for her was a floor above his parents' chambers, on the other side of the manor, the west side, facing the largest lake on the property.

"I'll get something. What would you like?" His mouth was dry, thinking of descending the stairs and, perhaps, catching a whisper of the conversation the Dark Lord was having with his mother.

"Something very nice." She said vaguely. He turned to go and she added, "Always had this view when I came to stay over summer holiday. How did you know?"

"I didn't, actually." And he slipped away, shutting the door.

Bellatrix looked over her shoulder, away from the sunlight. The bedroom was spacious, ten times the size of the nursery at Riddle Manor, and furnished well. There were beautiful paintings of landscapes on the walls, all shifting peacefully. On the wide desk sat photographs of elderly individuals she had never known and there was a lovely lamp there too. The ceiling was high and detailed with etchings of lovely dragons. The carpets on the wood floors looked delightful, too. So, she immediately removed her shoes and stockings very sloppily to let her toes touch the rugs. She would enjoy it here.

When Draco returned with a plate made up for her, he found his aunt curled on the bed with her feet on the pillows and her eyes wide open.

"Thank you."

"Of course." He set the food on the desk. As he had climbed the stairs again, Draco had felt a bitterness overtake him. His mother was being threatened, he was doing servants work. If his father were home, no one would dare...

"Want to help me decorate?"

"Well..."

"I have a lot of photographs." She said, rolling onto her stomach, balancing on her elbows, her hair over her face.

"That's all right."

"Don't be shy." She sat up and drew her wand, waved it and opened one of her trunks. "Silly of me to save them, maybe..." and she stood, beckoning him eagerly while she shuffled to the suitcase. Draco hesitantly went to where she was bent, shifting through papers and odd trinkets. "Here. Just..." and she took out a handful of unframed photographs, then a bound album and she sat, cross legged on the floor, the pictures sprawling before her on the carpet. "Have a look there." She pointed to a photograph, "Doesn't he look like you? That's Barty." Draco wasn't interested in that, though. He was transfixed, slowly sitting to look at the collection of older pictures piled on top of each other, "He was a sweet, sweet thing. The sweetest."

"And that?" Draco asked boldly, recognizing a face.

"Your mum. Beautiful. Fifteen there."

"Is that my father?"

"Certainly is. And that's me beside him. Your mother took that photograph. See, at Hogwarts, just before the end of the fall term. By the fountain." Draco couldn't believe it, "And there we are again, the two of us, August." Bellatrix handed him the picture. He recognized the rail of the stretching patio, the window, though it was all in black and white, of course. His father's hair was pulled back and he was dressed in casual robes, standing on the steps of the manor. He was laughing. A girl, Bellatrix, was resting her head on his shoulder, saying something. Her hair was tamer, her hands were smooth, and her face was intact. Her arm was wound around his.

"Here." She passed him another. It was a professional portrait of a handsome, handsome couple, "You'll meet him, soon. Your uncle. Rodolphus." His uncle looked like a powerful man, with his strong hand in almost a vice grip upon his wife's fair shoulder. There, Bellatrix stood again, straight-backed and well-dressed with full lips and dark eyes and... "The Dark Lord."

She did not allow Draco to hold this photograph. It was a small Polaroid, torn at one edge, bent down the center, and Bellatrix held it with care in her thin hand,

"It was years ago. I wasn't even in school. This is him, with your grandfather, Cygnus. I'm there with my other sister, in the corner. But he was there for a Christmas dinner. I don't even remember it. Wish I did. But there he is." Draco couldn't bare another glance at the young, dark haired, bright-eyed wizard in the chair. So he looked up at his aunt.

She was moving her frail finger slowly along the edge of the photograph, her eyes heavy as she breathed deep, her gaze swallowing the picture. Then she set the photo down and looked to her nephew, blinking

"You're an important boy." She said,

"Oh." He couldn't look at her eyes. He looked back to the photos, seeing her everywhere, seeing his father everywhere, seeing his mother happy and young. But, suddenly, he felt her hand below his chin. She turned his face to her and stared at him. He felt his vision shake, saw something blur and then felt her touch and her eyes leave him. She had read his mind,

"I won't hurt you. I know you are anxious, but I am your advocate. I love you mother and I love you father and I love you. I care for my family and I care that they are honored." She licked her lips and her face changed, "Your father has shamed us. So have I." The witch looked away for a moment and then confessed, "I am so sorry." And continued, "I am doing what I can to redeem myself, but you are your father's blood. People will look to you now, to recover what he can't." His voice had left him. His head was going numb as she spoke, "You are being given an opportunity, Draco. "

"I don't understand." He blurted,

"Neither do I." Bellatrix said quietly, "but..."

"What's going on."

"Wonderful things. All I know is that the Dark Lord will be giving you the chance to redeem your father."

"How." His mind was flooding, his thoughts were thundering. What was his mother being told...

"I don't know. But when the time comes, when you need advice, and you will need advice, sweetie, I will be here."

.

Voldemort shut the door behind him and descended the marble stairs, leaving the Malfoy Manor behind him. The sun was blazing down upon the property, painting flowers with a heavenly glow, making the neat cobblestones glint, making the sky shudder. He sensed Nagini and called her name. Only the breeze and the birds answered him.

As he moved down the path, between the towering hedges, nearer to the wrought iron gates, he saw something staining the ground. Something glittered on the grass. Voldemort stopped and looked down at the blood on the lawn and then saw the trail. He strode through the roses, under a decorated arch, around a bend, and, finally, came upon the fountain.

Nagini was there half submerged, draped over the low ridge to where the water was falling into the pool. Her scales dazzled beneath the surface. A few lovely, damp, pristinely white feathers were swirling there with her, others were on the ground and dotted with scarlet. The last of the blood was running off of the serpent's face. There was a gracefully, large lump a little ways down her neck.

Voldemort touched her tail and she lifted her head from the pool, turning and moving to him, slowly slipping over the side,

"I will return." He told her, "Don't let them leave."

"Of course."

"The moment you hear any talk of betrayal, kill one of them."

"Gladly." She was usually of fewer words just after she had eaten,

"I will have him initiated by the end of the month."

"Good, good..." Nagini flicked her tongue and shifted to rest her head on his foot,

"And be sure they care for her." He said. The snake recoiled, to stare at him, rearing up as far as her full stomach would allow, "and care for her well." She didn't reply, "Nagini."

"I shall."

"You need to look out for her until I can stay myself."

"I shall." Voldemort was about to bid her goodbye when she added venomously, "it should not have been such a struggle to part from her."

"I have left her."

"Perhaps, you should have her memory erased. She thinks about it often."

"Let her. It was an act of mercy."

"She thinks of your touch. That touch."

"It meant nothing."

"You'd like to think so. I'd like to think so" Nagini said, watching Voldemort breathe deeply, "Shall I kill her if you think of her too often..."

"I wouldn't let you."

"Which is what makes me worry." Voldemort turned to go, but the snake continued, "Kill her."

"And what if I experience pain."

"You shouldn't."

"What if I did? What then. Who next. What next. Everything I've worked for..."

"Please, end this."

"What if ending it means succumbing to it."

"Succumbing to anything is weakness."

"Then I will conquer it."

"Conquer this broken, hopeless government and then conquer whatever else you must, but do what good you were meant to do, first. Do not let it get in the way..."

"I am strong enough to manage this and manage my goals, Nagini."

"Then go to your work!" She shouted, "I am worried for you."

"If this new need happens to hinder me again, I will satisfy it and be done with it."

"Don't..."

"Goodbye, Nagini." And he left her.


	16. At The Lighthouse

Bellatrix set her boots and stockings aside. Gathering her skirts, she stepped to the edge of the pool and gingerly dipped her toe into the water. It was relief for her burning feet. The June air was steaming so terribly that neither the evening breeze nor the cooling charms around the property could thwart the humidity. Bellatrix dunked her entire foot in and then, after nearly loosing her balance, moved back.

She watched her sister, who was floating on her back down a ways in the water in her high-end bathing attire. She had her eyes scrunched shut and her hair was fanning up around her tired face. The marble swimming pool was long and stretched beneath a glass covering that ran down the west side of the manor. It was night, so someone had conjured an abundance of little lily pads that carried luminescent blue flowers. They rid the clear water of any shadow that may have lurked there.

Narcissa was unaware of her sister's presence and after a moment or two more of floating, she folded and let herself sink, plugging her nose carefully. When she surfaced, she stood and wiped the water from her eyes and face and then slicked back her slipper sheet of hair. Upon turning, her heart twisted when she saw her barefooted sister at the edge of the pool,

"Bella!" She gulped, taking the back of her own neck to calm herself, sighing deeply once her lungs had recovered from the surprise, "Do you need something? I thought you had retired for the night..."

"So did I. But I changed my mind." Said Bellatrix, not even checking to see if there was a puddle where she sat on the marble, a little was away from the edge. The glow of the flowers that had clustered near the perimeter of the water was flushing her face with their teal light.

"I..." Narcissa waded towards her, "If you want anything to eat or something like that, feel free to get it."

"Mhm. Thank you, but, no thank you."

"It's nothing against you, however, if you please, Bella, I want to be alone Honestly, I don't mean to be rude.." Her voice echoed off the water, "I was just looking to be alone." She hated saying that word.

"And I was looking for company." Bella said plainly, not moving, just looking off at the door and adding, "I'll find Draco."

"He's sleeping."

"No he isn't. He's in the study, reading..."

"Don't disturb him," Narcissa said, struggling, deciding to deal with her "please. Stay here if you'd like."

"I think I will, thanks. It's lovely in here."

"Isn't it?" Narcissa agreed, her voice hollow. She leaned back again in the water, submerging herself once more. She let Bellatrix be a shaking shadow at the surface, she let the sound of the night fall away. And then, her lungs forced her up, back into the thick air, into the huge expanse of the glass corridor.

"Those flowers are well done." Bellatrix was examining one, kneeling just at the border of the pool, with her back hunched,

"Draco's work. He did that earlier."

"Good, very good."

"He's always been best at detailed charms like that." Exceptional. He was exceptional at a sort of fragile magic. If he put his mind to it, he could conjure the most intricate little things. And he was all right at Quidditch, dueling...

"Stop it, Cissy. Are you honestly..." Bellatrix reprimanded when Narcissa couldn't stop her tears, "He's going to initiate the boy, not kill him."

"It's the same thing." Narcissa choked, wishing Bellatrix would leave, wishing for Lucius to come through the garden gate,

"It's an honor."

"It's a punishment."

"An honorable one."

"What can I do? What can I do to make it different?"

"He's being merciful. This is the best option."

"Can I convince him to use me instead?"

"Don't try."

"I want to run, Bellatrix, I want to run from all of this."

"You think fleeing this would be a better option than Draco being initiated? Narcissa, what do I have to say to convince you that the Dark Lord is being as kind as he can be to our...your family?"

"I just don't want it."

"If you run, you'll betray everyone."

"I won't...I just...I won't run, it's just, I mean...I'd like it all to be gone."

"It will be, soon. Once the Dark Lord has done what he needs..."

"But what if my son dies in the process? What if Lucius dies in the process?"

"What if I died in the process? What if any of us did? Do you know what, then? We'd be celebrated. I can't believe I have to have this conversation with you. Martyrdom is glory."

"Martyrdom?" She sucked in a breath and concluded, quietly, "So he is going to die..."

"You're really selfish." Her sister commented almost casually

"You don't have any children, Bella." Narcissa stared through reddening eyes, "You can't understand."

"Father and mother were proud when I was initiated."

"You chose..."

"And Draco was chosen." Bellatrix sat up straighter and looked at the ceiling, "What an honor to be chosen. Can you imagine? Sought out, requested..."

"For the wrong reasons. Draco isn't like you, Bellatrix, he's not like Lucius. The Dark Lord knows he won't make it..."

"Then why would he waste his time? The Dark Lord doesn't waste time. Ever. He would never send someone he thinks to be inexperienced to do what must be done. Why would he take Draco if he anticipated him to be a hindrance?"

"To shame us."

"At this point, you aren't that important. And perhaps that's good. If he wanted to shame you, he'd imperiorize your son and have him go, right now and..."

"Bella." Narcissa stopped her, welcoming the silence that followed. The water rippled in the stillness, kissing the sides of the pool, moving the lily pads so they bobbed gently. "Please. I will come to terms with this. I have to, I know, it's just a lot at once."

"The Dark Lord will set everything right." Bellatrix assured her, "You shouldn't be so terrified of him. He's so well intentioned."

"Yes, but he's angry with me..."

"Yes, but he's doing what he can to give you the opportunity to sort everything out."

"No, Bella, he's putting that responsibility on my son."

"Do you really think you are in any condition to do that better than he could?"

"No."

"I'll be advising Draco." Bellatrix said softly, surely. Narcissa looked to her sister, wanting to protest, wanting to scream at her and tell her to never go near her son again, but logic stayed her voice. She swallowed,

"Please, do."

Narcissa did a slow lap away from her sister and then back to her again,

"Does he know, yet?"

"Yes, I've told him. Don't..." She paused, beginning to go to the stairs in the water, "don't mention anything to him."

"Fine."

"Really."

"I know." Narcissa ascended, leaving the pool. She took up her wand, which was dry and resting on the floor. With a wave of it, she summoned a towel to fly from its place and coil around her, "He'll come and ask me about it soon enough."

"I suppose." Narcissa said darkly, putting her wand to her the top of her head and using a drying spell on herself. She finally sat on one of the ornate, cushioned chairs that stood many and empty, gathered around fine, spindly-legged tables. Bellatrix went when her sister beckoned her weakly. "I wish I were as resilient as you. I really do."

"Hm..." Bellatrix sat, with some effort. Her knees cracked,

"Azkaban, everything, two weeks in the Black Forrest. I just want one scrap of your fortitude, Bella."

"I like luxury, Cissy, I really do. But I think the difference between me and you, is that you need it." She said bluntly, while Narcissa took her hand away from fixing her blonde curls, "You need it at all times, I mean. I want it, of course. I've missed it, terribly, because I certainly have a right to it...But if I have to crawl through spit, and mud, and shit I will, if it means that I can help our cause..."

"Oh, I know that. I know I can't do what you do, in that regard. But I do have the same passion for all of this as you do. But you've lived with this snake, this Nagini, watching you before. I haven't. You've spent two weeks in Germany, alone with the Dark Lord..."

"Wormtail was there."

"Even so, even so..." Narcissa paused, "I'm not used to the pressure of him focusing on me."

"He wants the three of you to redeem yourselves. He doesn't want you to fail..."

"Then why not encourage us, instead of..."

"Because he is angry and rightfully-rightfully so." Bellatrix coughed,

"...and rightfully so." She waited for Bellatrix to clear her throat, "Do you need a potion for that?"

"What?"

"Are you ill?"

"It's from Azkaban, my throat, it's nothing bad." She said waving her hand. Narcissa took a breath and inquired,

"Tell me honestly,"

"Hm."

"Lucius..."

"Hm?"

"When will he be home?"

"I couldn't say."

"Can you tell when you started forgetting? I mean, will he remember..." Narcissa asked, not looking at her.

Bellatrix stared, with her sister, at the lights bobbing on the water. Her blood rippled a little. She blinked away shadowed memories,

"I started forgetting...I lost track of days at nine hundred and something or other."

"Over two years then..."

"He'll look different."

"I know." Narcissa admitted while Bellatrix observed her younger sister's pale, flimsy calves, her soft, lazy hands, her spotless neck. And for an instant, she wanted to rip her apart, bite and tear off all of that perfection. She wished her hell, for a moment. Bellatrix wanted to throw grease all over her, write in ink all over her, starve her, scar her, just maul her as she had been mauled, "As long as he remembers." She tried to smile up at Bellatrix, who easily saw into her mind. She saw loneliness and self-pity at the forefront of her sister's melancholy thoughts. Then she saw a darkened chamber, an expansive bed, spreading out before her. Mornings alone.

"Have company." Bellatrix encouraged dryly, "You like having company. I'd stay away..."

"No one will come. And even if they would, the risk..."

"Wives of other men who are supportive of the..."

"It would look suspicious. Bellatrix," She said definitely and bitterly, "I can't. See, that's why it's difficult. I go to complete isolation directly from..."

"Why don't we spend more time together, then?"

"Perhaps we should."

"Perhaps." Bellatrix said,

"And then what of Draco? When he returns to school..."

"Will he? Won't he start working on..."

"No." Narcissa said, begging tears to stay away, "The Dark Lord assured me he would, in fact, be going back to Hogwarts."

"He has friends there."

"But will they have him?"

"They should." Bellatrix sighed, "Isn't it wrong?" Narcissa looked up at her again, "the noblest of children, the luckiest of them, the most well-intentioned children are the ones who might be shunned by their peers? It's not like it was."

"It's going to get better." Narcissa promised herself,

"He's a solitary boy, though..."

"Because he always favored time with his father over time with his friends."

"Well, now he will have projects to focus on." Bellatrix said, leaning back., looking up at her reflection in the glass ceiling. She observed the entire room that way, peering down upon it and watched the lily pads shift. She saw her sister look up, too,

"What?" Narcissa asked with a tight throat, "What is it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you see something?"

"Nothing special..."

"Heavens..." Narcissa breathed, "You make me nervous when you stare off like that. I don't like this room at night as it is...All the walls make me feel like somebody could be watching and I wouldn't see." Just then, Bellatrix cried out in pain, making Narcissa stand with her wand at the ready, "What? Bella! What?"

"It's my mark. It's all right."

"Oh..." Narcissa moaned weakly, sitting again and putting a hand to her forehead, "I..."

"I'll be back. In the mean time, as I said, Draco is still awake." Bellatrix hurried to put on her shoes; she left her stockings. She wouldn't make him wait, "The study."

"All right. " Narcissa said before Bellatrix rushed out into the gardens to apparrate.

.

Bellatrix felt ground beneath her feet again and her head settled. Suddenly, before she could even get her wits about her, she felt the spray of the sea on her cheek. She heard waves around her.

She was on a rocky overhang, at the base of a steep, slippery hill in the darkness. The slender moon gleamed on the wet boulders that led up to the looming lighthouse at the top of the rise. The muggle structure was spattered with black grime. She saw the haphazard state of it, when the side of it was not thrown into shadow by the swirling of its flaring beam.

Bellatrix turned and saw what was, probably, the ocean, behind her, dark and turbulent with summer currents. The wind was wild and warm and it brought the sting of the sea tearing through her hair. Now, she almost regretted not adorning her stockings. Already her feet were moist in her boots. She lit her wand, but its glow was swallowed by the dampness and darkness. Bellatrix almost called out for him in the seaside shadows, but then her mark burned again, making her whine in shock.

"Lumos Maxima."

She decided to climb, gritting her teeth from the pain. It was just a little ways to the lighthouse. As she ascended the hill, the blistering on her arm began to quiet. He was nearer. As she progressed, she slipped and slid a few times on the rocks, but eventually, came to a thin, gravel path, which wound its way along the side of the grassy ridge.

The lighthouse grew taller before her, spinning in all its muggle ugliness. It flailed its light like a mace. She couldn't help but scan the ridges it illuminated, looking to see if he would be standing somewhere there.

She loved to walk through his magic. Twice, she felt herself pass through the invisible curtains of a breathtakingly powerful protective spell. And the pangs of her Dark Mark diminished further, until they faded to nothing when she could have reached out and touched the rust on the building.

The witch strode around the property, unlocking the muddied gate with a swipe of her wand. She approached an open door to the slanting, brick house attached to the structure, where the smell of a powerful, beautifully familiar magic dominated that of the brine of the sea. A lantern swung on the patio, glowing with a weak, emerald flame.

The entry way and adjoining hallway were dark. A muggle lamp hung from the ceiling by its tattered cords. Even in the gloom, she spotted a dark stain on the wood of the floor, just under the mat where one would wipe off their shoes. There were a few pairs of worker's boots lined up against the wall, but they were all dry and clean. She passed them carelessly and moved down the corridor, leaving the door open behind her,

"Lock it." He called from another room. Bellatrix turned and bolted the latch, sealing the door with a strong charm. The sounds of the sea became muffled. She made her way into the house, into the blackness, her luminescent wand before her. Now, alone in the hall, she saw the faint glow that outlined the frail door at the end of the corridor. She went to it hastily.

Voldemort was waiting in what had been the quarters of the muggle in charge of the lighthouse's upkeep. The electric lamps sat dark on the dressers. The Dark Lord awaited his servant in the anxious light of the tall candles that he had conjured to burn near the desk. Already they were sweating with scorching wax. He had easily disposed of the man and his wife and child, sending them into the sea. He had imperiorized a young assistant to spend his days up in the lighthouse and tend to it as needed. He'd kill him eventually. But now, the Dark Lord was not thinking of any of that.

He gazed down, unblinking, at his hands, which were folded before him. He gave one last look to the map of the London Underground and then, he set aside the parchment and he opened the door for the witch, with a flick of his finger.

Bellatrix observed him. Voldemort was as she rarely saw him; a quiet, restless figure, at work in the gloom. He was sitting with his back to the door at the cramped desk in the corner. He was alone.

Then, Voldemort rolled up the map before him swiftly, pressing his hand to the letters and lists one last time before turning on the stool to stare at the witch in the doorframe. Her hair was battered by the ocean, her hands were dotted with gravel, her face was pallid and thin as ever in the low light. There was a panging in his ribs and suddenly a buzzing in his ears. He clenched his teeth.

"My Lord." Bellatrix bowed her head, putting her wand away inside her light cloak. He was sick with himself even looking at her, but he looked. He stared into her eyes, deaf to her greeting, "My Lord."

The door closed behind her. No moonlight could make its way through the thick curtains over the stretching window on the wall. Only the light of the dozen candles shuddering on the desk held off the darkness, casting the wizard and witch in a nervous, pulsing, orange glow. Bellatrix blinked in the dimness and watched the strong, thin shadow that was the Dark Lord rise up from his seat. She felt his scarlet eyes grip her, making her heart hammer as it always did. For some reason, of all things, she heard the wind throwing itself against the house, the sea roaring while he neared her.

Voldemort's face was cold and tainted with those slanting, shuddering shadows. She thought, perhaps, he meant to kill her or tell her something devastating. Bellatrix held her breath.

However, the wizard did not draw his wand. He just stood before her, eyes shifting furiously. And with him so close, Bellatrix became overwhelmed with the scent of the magic emanating from him. She tried to slow her breaths in order to savor it while she could. He never stayed near for very long.

Then, his bright stare wavered from her face, falling down over her. She watched him, seeing him breathing, hearing him breathing. The room was falling away like it always did and she was positive he could hear her heartbeats.

The Dark Lord was looking into her eyes, but not her mind. He knew what he would see there. His hand hovered, raised slightly. Voldemort was still.

And then.

Voldemort's fingers found Bellatrix's moist cheek, pressing hard there, making her lungs tremble, making her stomach bind itself up, making her go numb. His brutal touch trailed slowly to her lips, pausing there to discover her hot, disoriented breath on his fingertips.

There were tears in her dark eyes. It was too much, already. He could smell the need, the weakness around her. And as his hand moved down her frail, quaking neck, the witch could only manage,

"I..." And then, her voice left her and Voldemort felt the fabric of her dress over her sharp collar, then the warmth of her panicking chest.

Bellatrix swallowed a shocked sob, paralyzed. She would wake up and feel hideous for dreaming something like this again. This felt too real.

It was real.

He drew back for a moment and then took both her arms in his strange grasp, pulling her closer. Then, after a moment, he took her face in his hands and he went on and explored her mangled hair while elated, confused tears began to drip off of her chin. He didn't mind that she was crying. It was easier. She was right to be overtaken. She didn't deserve any of this.

He willed himself to continue, despite the growing ringing in his skull and the feverish pulsing of his insides. And now he hated that she was crying because it meant that it meant something to her. He dug his fingers into the back of her neck and made her jolt and yelp and gnaw at her lip and clench her eyes shut. He withdrew his nails.

While she flinched, recovering, Voldemort felt her ear under his fingers and then slowly pushed her face away from him, feeling her tears on his palm. She was stiff, distressed, unsure, shaking, and Voldemort went nearer, finding how his face felt against hers.

That ear was smooth against his chin. He felt her shuddering shoulder with his hand. Bellatrix's wavering breaths were fiery on his jaw when he tried to let his thin lips scrape her salty eyelids. She was shaking wildly in his arms, too shocked, too scared, and too wise to touch her Master in return.

When she dared to lean upon him, he sent a small, shocking curse from his fingers through her arm. She stiffened against the Dark Lord with a hiss of pain. He held her tighter, his ribs crushing hers,

"What is this?" He heard her choke quietly. He could not answer her, "My Lord, please..."

And then, Voldemort kissed her. His lips pressed hard at the side of Bellatrix's mouth, left them rigid there. And he held her head sternly in his hands. She shook, ever part of her shook, her legs, her chest, her mind. She had dreamed this a thousand times. She had dreamed of this in a tavern, in her bedroom, in the Black Forest, anywhere she could. She imagined how it would feel to have his lips there with hers. But now, in that moment, Bellatrix could not feel anything at all. She was numb with shock, she was numb everywhere and it was rapturous. Bellatrix sobbed against the Dark Lord's static kiss.

When he drew back, they stared.

She clenched her teeth together, suddenly beginning to think again. Suddenly hating herself for not having touched his chest, not having kissed back. She didn't care what curses he would throw at her. Bellatrix brought a hand over her mouth in terrified joy. Voldemort's silence was unyielding.

"I don't..."

He grabbed her wrist and clenched it and brought her hand away from her face and down to her side. He went to kiss her again. His lips were tense. He fought to understand, eyes tight, feeling the violent pulse of her arm under his fingers while he restrained her. Then, her free hand was gripping at his shoulder and her chest was at his. And the sensations blended together.

They breathed against each other, struggled somehow. Fighting a deep, wrenching pain at the pit of him, Voldemort grabbed at the back of her neck and pressed his sealed mouth so severely to hers that he felt her teeth behind her lips, he tasted his own blood in his mouth. Bellatrix found it so beautifully suffocating.

When she gasped, they parted in the slightest. Voldemort kept his steely hold on the back of her neck, staying her and studying her. She found her vision saturated in his blindingly, terribly scarlet eyes.

He saw hundreds of fantasies flickering in her mind. Every thought was exposed, raw, and dangerously honest. He saw unfinished letters to him. He saw her memories of staring at bedroom ceilings. He saw her first glimpse of him in a dusty shop. He saw Azkaban, alone, running her own hands over her cold arms, her cold legs, dreaming.

"Forgive me." Bellatrix begged when he released her, blinking Voldemort from her thoughts, blinding herself with more surprised tears. She pressed her forehead to his, confessing, "My Lord, I don't understand." Neither did he.

"Touch me." He ordered, finally. She breathed.

Bellatrix carefully placed her hand on his collar, then, tentatively found his face with her numb fingers. His skin was smooth, warmer than she expected. She pressed herself near to him, touched his arms, his back.

And then, the Dark Lord, forced her face to his neck. He felt her tears there, then her bold mouth there. He locked his jaw. Her hand was gripping at his leg.

And then, again, her lips were on his and Bellatrix was courageous enough to kiss him softly, carefully, expressing all the fragile, terrified devotion she could. When he didn't respond, she drew away,

"Go on." He demanded through his teeth. She did.

She was timid, slow, but not for long. In a rush, all the feeling in her nerves, her veins, her muscles, the marrow of her bones burst alive again and Bellatrix clung tightly to Voldemort's frame, discovering his hot neck with her hands. She gorged herself with the taste of his tongue.

The warmth of her breath was alien in Voldemort's throat. He opened his eyes to look into the shifting darkness. A kiss was too quiet. It almost didn't feel like anything at all. It tasted of nothing but heat. But it was making everything painful. His lungs shook, his heart was blistering and convulsing, he was sure of it. And suddenly, Voldemort felt a freezing fear fly through him.

He stepped away from Bellatrix, who was trembling before him in the candlelight, with her face ruined by tears, painted gold and black by the light, her ravenous mouth open in shock and euphoria. Her eyes were wide. She was gaping down at the floor, panting quietly and raggedly. Perhaps she was on the fringes of one of her frequent attacks.

"My-my-my Lord..." but she wanted more.

"I need you to know that you have not earned this. You don't deserve it." His tone was dangerously soft, fatally monotonous,

"I know. That's why I..."

"This is as I wish it."

"My Lord, I know. I..."

"But if this is to continue, you must..."

"I'm sorry if I..."

"You will do as I ask."

"Anything." She meant it.

And the Dark Lord approached her again, smelling the anxieties radiating around her. He touched her collar and she moved to reach for him, to kiss him once again. But he glared at her suddenly, making her shrink, recoil her hand, and bite at the inside of her cheek,

"My Lord, I just..."

"Quiet, Bella."

"I'm..,I..."

"Bella." He insisted through his teeth, allowing himself to look at her body. She noticed and dared to question quickly,

"What should I do?" He waved his hand and a curse bit her for an instant. She screeched in surprise and then, Bellatrix finally fell silent as the Dark Lord neared her. He took her waist as he thought he should. His hand was still hot from the spell.

She closed her eyes, praying that she wouldn't wake up suddenly, in the silent guest bedroom at Malfoy Manor alone with her own touch, alone with the cold sheets pulled tightly to herself.

He couldn't look at her. Voldemort made her turn from him, coiling his arms around her, pulling her back so close that he could feel ribs of her corset through the back of her dress against his chest. Voldemort's touch was severe, unpracticed, brutal.

His breath echoing in her ear made Bellatrix feel as if her lungs might collapse. When he took her hips in his strange grasp, the witch felt more mortal than ever. When Voldemort touched her chest, she was convinced she was going to be killed after this evening. She would never see her sister again, she would never duel again, she would never laugh again. She would never see the end of the war. But he was touching her.

His movements were rigid, strange, but she couldn't care. She was desperate to touch him. Her hands were shaking at the idea of it. And so she gripped her own legs. She leaned back against him while he pressed the sharp side of his face against hers. And as Voldemort let out an excruciating sigh, Bellatrix herself let out a little cry and she felt his grip tighten around her.

She was overcome. She was uncontrollable. She turned to him again, swiftly, shifting in his asphyxiating grasp. And Bellatrix simply wrapped her arms around his thin torso, holding him. She ran her hands over his back, pressing her chest to his, hiding her face in his collar. His breath that rose and fell unevenly against her cheek, the smell of his magic, metallic and molten, that rang in her lungs. The pain of his arms put her thousands of anxieties to rest and awakened all the insanity in her heart.

The howling of the sea was silenced, the dripping candles were forgotten, she was alone with his heart against her cheek, with his muscles smothering hers, alone with her bones and his and the Potter boy was gone, Azkaban was nothingness, Rodolphus was oblivion, dementors fell away to ashes, her entrails were screaming his name as they twisted up inside of her, her mind was bleeding for him, her skin worshiped him, she was blind and deaf and crazed and more at peace than she had ever been.

In the quiet, Bellatrix embraced Voldemort as tightly as she could.

Then, she was thrown from him. She met the floor. There was a cracking. Perhaps that was her body slamming into the wall. She began to cough, her back stinging. She heard something fall from its place somewhere and shatter on the floor. She looked to him through her blurred vision, choking, gasping, cowering. He was still and glaring at her, with piercing darkness in his eyes. His magic was screaming in her ears. It was making the candles spark and the floorboards snap near his feet. She threw her arm up to shield herself.

The tremors in the air ceased. When she looked up again, the room had been submerged in shadow; the candles were steaming, dead. She could still see Voldemort's violent silhouette.

"You insist on making this difficult." His voice whispered.

Voldemort heard himself muted by the resounding explosions of his heartbeats in his head. His blood was untamed inside of him. He felt as if he were drowning in it.

He drew his wand and didn't look at her. She braced herself,

"Imperio."

She fell into blue blindness.

Haze.

A dulling.

'Come closer.'

Her feet mobilized.

Spectral arms around her in some distant room.

Something slipping away.

Air all over,

Then fire.

Sedated kisses

everywhere.

A drumming.

A pounding.

Her name, muffled, through water, again

And again

In the darkness

miles away.

Bellatrix's nerves flashed awake, suddenly. It was dark, but she was finally alert again. She could hear herself breathing and the roar of the waves had returned. Her throat was sore. She was steaming with cold sweat, gasping in the newness, her mind rushing to recall anything it could. Bellatrix knew she was in the bedroom at the lighthouse, but she didn't know where the door was.

When she turned to get her bearings, he moved from her. Bellatrix just realized she was naked when she saw the Dark Lord sitting up. She felt her lungs tighten. She had been numb to all of it.

"My Lord..." She managed, reaching for him, but he pressed his scorching fingers to her forehead swiftly. In the instant that she had, Bellatrix hastily, desperately grabbed at his arm, to touch him once more, while the memory charm flared up before her eyes.


	17. Triumph

The witch entered the kitchen, holding the scrolls of parchment and the pile of envelopes close to herself. She was dressed modestly, muggle-like almost, but not quite. The kitchen was empty. She had been so used to seeing Sirius lingering there.

"Albus!" She called out to the space. At first, no one answered, but then, she heard a voice from the next room reply,

"Yes, Emmeline?"

"I'll be going now!" She told him,

"Goodbye!" He wished her off.

Emmeline gave one last look around the dark kitchen. The oil lamp hung silently over the stretching, table made of dark wood, covered in piles of papers. The chairs were uninhabited and solemn in their places. The quietness about it made her ears ring.

She was glad to have the floor creaking beneath her as she exited the room and strode down the hall. Minding the veiled portrait of Walpurga Black, who was, it seemed, asleep or absent from her decorative frame, Emmeline was just about to reach the door way when she saw the knob turn and noticed the shadow, through the murky window, on the porch outside.

Severus Snape entered the house and held the door for her, his eyes distant and his expression as grave as ever. He did not say a word to her, even when she uttered,

"Thank you, Severus."

He shut the door, taking just a moment to watch her descend the stairs and into the dreary morning mist flooding the street. Then, Snape turned to the stretching, ashen hall.

Albus Dumbledore stood at the opposite end of the corridor. His silver hair and beard shone in the gloomy calm of the house. He was an elderly man, with life in his eyes. That morning, he wore brilliant, indigo robes. Dumbledore adjusted his glasses with a delicate finger before nodding and greeting the Potions Master,

"Severus. What a nice surprise."

The two men ascended the slanting stairs together, their light, summer cloaks trailing behind them, collecting dust from the carpet. Once they had reached the landing, Albus suggested,

"The study, perhaps? I enjoy sitting with my feet on that little coffee table."

"And where is the elf?" Snape questioned,

"Currently? Absent. Somewhere. "

The study was left in homey disarray, with a few books open and abandoned on the floor before the great, embroidered tapestry on the wall. The window was open, but Dumbledore quickly remedied that with a nod of his head.

Snape did not sit when invited, but Dumbledore made himself comfortable in the limp-cushioned seat next to Sirius' favorite, battered, leather armchair. Of course, he rested his heels on the low-lying, scuffed coffee table.

"Has he been initiated, then?"

"Yes. Two nights ago." Severus said quietly, looking Dumbledore in the eyes.

"Were you there to witness it?"

"Yes."

"Was it painful for him?"

"Of course."

"More painful than necessary?"

"Of course." Snape said simply and Dumbledore sighed,

"Poor boy." His crystal gaze flitted to the ceiling, "And his mother?"

"Despairing." Severus stepped closer,

"Terribly?"

"Quite terribly." He noted steadily and severely added, "Now that we've established how impeccably difficult it is for Narcissa and her son at this time, Albus, can you please inform me of what on earth you intend to do with the knowledge that there will be a Death Eater attending Hogwarts this term?" It was less of a question than it was a demand, "Now that he has been officially initiated, I hope you show more concern than you did when I first informed you he might be..."

"I have not yet decided." Dumbledore folded his hands and blinked at the Professor, "Have you any other news?  
"Of course I do. Though, now I am not so certain I would be able to share it without fearing how your apparent absence of logic, motivation or gravity might cloud your interpretation of whatever it is I have to say."

"Severus, I have learned that things that can merely be worried over and not solved at any present moment are not worth my energy. And I assure you that any casual air I may employ, I have not adopted in order to provoke a reaction from you. It is merely more comfortable for me when there is nothing to be gained from fully expressing the wild anxieties I do, in fact, feel. But, of course, all or any of my behaviors could shift whenever I feel I'd like them to. I've taken to how you seem to control yourself as such, actually. Please don't blame me for being a disciple of your own practice..."

"Albus this is important."

"I am well aware." He said with overwhelming sincerity, "As all of your reports are. Truly. Please tell me."

"First, the boy is being assigned to the task of murdering you." Snape said, his lips finding a thin line,

"He won't succeed." There was a pause

"Do you expect me to let him try?"

"Yes."

"...just," he took a breath, "let him."

"Yes. Let him try and then let him fail. "

"He'll be killed if he doesn't..."

"I will sort it all out. He will not die, not at my fault. He won't be killed for not completing this mission, at least. That I can promise."

"You cannot promise that." Severus said quietly. Albus simply inhaled and looked at him, "How?"

"When I know a definite answer, I will give it to you." Dumbledore paused, adjusted the sleeve of his robes and then suggested, "Severus, please sit, for my sake. I would rather we were on the same level. And you seem so restless..."

"And you aren't?"

"Please sit." Albus insisted kindly, motioning to Sirius' chair. Snape obliged, his expression dark, "Where was the initiation held?"

"Malfoy Manor." Snape barely looked at him,

"Really?" Dumbledore scoffed, glancing down at his hands with an almost bitter smile, "Glad to see the Ministry is doing their work well. Did Tom announce his intentions for Draco to the group?"

"No. I saw almost everything in his thoughts. He didn't tell anyone but Narcissa and the boy." Severus explained, feeling another anxiety re-awaken in his breast, "Voldemort and I had a brief discussion and I saw what I could in his mind and I managed to find a conversation he had with Narcissa."

"Perhaps he was simply intimidating her."

"I can only hope that I was misinformed, yes." Snape leaned back, finally, taking a breath and daring to keep eye contact with the Hogwarts Headmaster, "And I saw other things."

"Go on, yes, certainly..."

"Voldemort has killed three muggles and imperiorized another."

"Oh, no." For the first time, his expression changed. Albus' brow furrowed, his eyes softened tragically, "Where?"

"A ways away from a small trading post off the western coast of Ireland."

"How?"

"I only saw his recollection of the bodies."

"How long has he resided there?"

"Not long. He isn't there now, I don't think."

"Are you sure."

"I don't know."

"You are uncharacteristically upset. I am sorry you had to review the murders."

"Thank you for considering that." Snape said sharply, feeling his chest tighten further, "I saw other things, as well."

"Yes, Severus?"

"I'd never..." He paused, "I'm not even sure if it is relevant, but it's probably a weakness you would be interested in exploiting. I saw, surprisingly, that Voldemort has become romantically involved with Bellatrix Lestrange." Dumbledore nodded once, slowly, looking down and breathing.

Albus brought his gleaming eyes up peacefully, unfolding his hands and repositioning himself in his chair,

"What do you make of it?"

"What do I make of it?" Albus asked rhetorically, almost smiling, "Everyone can sleep a little easier tonight."

"How so."

"Now that it has come to a the forefront, I will be glad to explain every inch of this situation. Voldemort has, to some degree, changed his relations with Bellatrix Lestrange."

"Yes."

"You recall, of course, that I was more than happy to send the Mirror of Erised to be examined by him. Now, you can infer what he saw there."

"You enchanted it. He has not changed in any way. If you are claiming that he has found some compassion, some..."

"I have not claimed anything, Severus. One moment. Let me continue. I did not enchant the mirror because I needed to test my hypothesis and get a truly honest answer. Whether he saw something having to do with Bellatrix in the reflection is irrelevant, but interesting. What is more important is that he did not see what he thought he would. This means he does not know what he truly wants anymore. And you, of course, understand, that previously, he has always been quite sure of that."

"That is an incredible risk." Snape accused darkly,

"It would seem so, if you are forgetting someone very important."

"Who."

"Lily Evans." Dumbledore said clearly. Severus sat back in the slightest, his eyes hard, "Well, not Lily herself, but nearly. Voldemort's new body is not as perfect as he anticipated. Yes, now he can come in direct contact with Harry. But why? Because now, the magic that ran through Harry's veins, due to his mother's doings, her humanity, her compassion, her emotion, has been instilled into Voldemort's new system. He now faces entirely new patterns of thought. He is immune to the protective enchantment because he is saturated with it. Previously, he could not feel anything. Had he left the boy alone and taken someone else's blood, I am convinced that he might have declared war before this coming December. Luckily for us, Lily Evans' magic has confused him terribly. It is buying us more time. His habits may have to be abandoned. In the ideal situation, he might not find himself as quick kill as frequently. More realistically, though, perhaps he will kill more for a time out of frustration and then be weakened by guilt. That would be something new and more painful than this shard of his soul could endure."

"So what do we do? How can we weaken him immediately? Do we allow him to lash out because of this as you have suggested?"

"Yes."

"We can't."

"We must. If that is what it takes to begin breaking him. Whatever he does, now, it will change him for the better and, therefore, weaken his cause."

"And what of Bellatrix?" Albus looked upon the wizard carefully. Severus was lit by the murky morning clouds outside the window, casting his tilted, embittered face in white and black. His hands were pressed together in his lap. His eyes lost their fire and had fallen to darkness, not at the floor, but at his own silently turbulent thoughts.

"Bellatrix must be kept alive until the time is perfect. It will not end the war, it will have, perhaps, a miniscule impact, but prolonging this can do nothing but weaken him as the man he has become. She must live until he allows himself to become attached to her."

"Then she will be killed." Snape concluded quietly, not looking at Dumbledore. "And Voldemort will feel it."

"And hopefully he will break, as some other men have been broken."


	18. Greyback

The thunder had finished and the softer movement of the storm was slowly advancing over the woods. The trees around the vast clearing where the body was suspended were thick and tall and covered in dark moss. The height of the tempest had left some branches strewn over the muddy ground, but now, it was peaceful in the forest. Mist hung in low-lying ditches, the wind had ceased, and everything was silent, except for the howling of a wolf somewhere to the west.

The rain was banishing the blood from the corpse. What could barely be identified as a woman's body hung in mid air, broken and scorched all over. Her pale face had been left mostly unharmed, but her left arm and leg had been torn from her and were lying in the dirt beneath her dangling foot, catching the watery blood that was running from the skirt she wore.

It was about a quarter of an hour before shadows gathered at the edge of the trees. But they came, as expected.

Two enormous, shimmering wet wolves leapt out of the mist and towards the corpse. Their paws tore deep, quiet footprints in the black mud as they ran. Their black eyes were starved. The smallest and fleetest of them bounded over the mud and ripped the body from the air. It tumbled with the carcass, snapping its jaws and then tearing into the stomach. The next, who was larger and noisier and missing one of its' ears, began to rip at the body's stocking shrouded right leg.

Not far behind them was a young man, with deep eyes. He came into the glade, panting a little, dressed in sullied work clothes. The largest wolf barked something to him and the boy immediately ran to the disembodied limbs the others had left a little ways behind where they were feasting. He knelt and began to eat after wiping a little of the mud from the frail, drizzling arm.

The she-wolf, the smallest, clawed away the blouse the corpse wore and immediately pried chest open. The wolves' paws were bathed in red and the two of them fought over the slippery innards, lapping at the exposed ribs, snapping their steely jaws at each other selfishly.

Soon, their maws were soaked with darkness and their nostrils were clogged with the overwhelming scent of blood. It was not hard for the masked witch and wizard to descend from their perches in the trees without being noticed over the deafening crack of bones and the shredding of cloth and skin. However, it was not long before the boy, with his face and hands shining scarlet, turned and saw them.

"Silvia!" He whined sharply for the she-wolf and ran behind the creatures as they drew their heads up from the remains of Emmeline Vance.

The two figures were wizards, certainly. They had their wands drawn. One was a lady, with thin hands and a shaky grip. The other was a man, slender, with his wet robes clinging to his arms. He bore rusty red hair that dripped out of his hood.

The she-wolf immediately charged them, snapping and snarling. She was thwarted, though, by a sizzling curse that was dealt by the hooded woman. The she-wolf growled, beaten back in the mud, panting and glaring at the two wizards.

And then, a stream of mist rushed past the ankles of the masked individuals. The wolves watched as the fog rose up in the center of the glade and spun for a moment before shifting and unveiling a tall, pale man who had appeared there. He had his hood drawn up, but the wolves could clearly see his face and his blazing eyes.

"Do you work under Fenrir Greyback?" He questioned, in a chillingly high voice. Instead of addressing the bloodied boy, he addressed the beasts.

Suddenly, the she-wolf shook where she sat. Her ragged form rippled. With an unbearable creaking sound, her hairy body folded. Suddenly, where a wolf once sat, was a human.

"That is a rare talent. Did Greyback teach you?" The man noted calmly,

"Yes."

She was, actually, rather petite and wore a sullied, pale sundress, which was torn up the sides. Her sopping, dark hair was pulled out of her face with a tie and she was barefoot, with mud blackening her surprisingly brawny legs. There were the remnants of pox marks all over her face. She may have been sort of beautiful, had her chin not been running with mud and gore.

"Who are you?" She demanded in her young, shrill voice,

"I am the Dark Lord. These are two of my lieutenants; Lestrange and Spade. Now, answer me. I have business with Fenrir Greyback, do you know his whereabouts."

"Yeah, Fenrir is our alpha." She breathed, "Are you gonna kill him?"

"No." The Dark Lord replied swiftly and simply,

"Liar." The lady rumbled coldly, "I'd die before I gave any information up to the likes of you." She glared into Voldemort's eyes in defiance, which was a mistake. For an instant, she felt her vision waver and blur. She recalled clear visions of the farmhouse, the mud on the floor, Fenrir walking towards her in the sunlight over the ruined vineyard, the door to the silo at the top of the hill...

She blinked and snorted, turning away knowing that he must have read her thoughts. The wolf beside her growled with surprise and the boy whined a little again,

"You have no right to..." She snarled, whirling to face Voldemort again. But the Dark Lord and his companions had already apparated away. The she-werewolf drew a pristine, white wand from her dress pocket and ordered frantically,

"Anthony, transform back. Both of you grab hold of my arms. We need to warn him."

.

The overturned vineyard sat under the watch of a quaint farmhouse. There was music playing from within it and the muted, pounding sound was cast over the entire valley. There were lights on in the house, which cast shadows of men through the lace drapes. If anyone had been looked out over the property from those dirtied windows, they would have seen the three forms of the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters appear on the far side of the vineyard.

Bellatrix hurried after Voldemort, with Jasper Spade silently moving alongside her. They were heading for the silo, which rose up a little ways beyond the house at the top of the hill.

Whatever had been grown on the vast property had been reduced to rows of weeds, climbing up toppled sections of once-white fences. The vineyard was more of a wasteland than anything. The rain had turned the entire expanse to sweet smelling mud.

"Master..." Bellatrix began, but there was a snapping sound from behind them that interrupted her. The trio that they had left in the forest appeared suddenly, next to a small, freestanding fence. The deep-eyed boy looked terrified as ever, the woman had a wand in her grasp, and another man, who was very large and missing an ear, were a little ways behind them.

The boy and the man took off running past the wizards at an alarming speed. They flew towards the house, crashing over the vineyard. The woman, though, remained and boldly threw a spell at Voldemort, who deflected it without even stopping.

"Hey!" She barked furiously, "You hurt me or you hurt him, you're whole situation will get completely fucked! Listen!"

Bellatrix rounded, ready to strike, but Voldemort stayed her, grabbing her arm swiftly.

"Bella."

In a rush, Bellatrix realized that the Dark Lord had apparated with her and Jasper to the base of the silo, surely breaking the restrictions of any anti-apparation charms that had been set on the property. Bella caught her breath and yanked her hood back over her head. It had flown back in transit. She could hear the woman cursing loudly, far behind them in the valley.

The silo before them was a decent size. Bellatrix squinted behind her mask, through the light rain, trying to see the full height of it. It was sort of slanting, but it shone a dull silver in the light of the half-moon. It was covered in dark rust and there was a pounding sound coming from within it.

"I think I could hit one from here." Spade calculated, clearing his throat and looking over his shoulder at the valley. But Voldemort was already striding away, along the side of the structure to find the door. While she and Jasper followed him, Bella looked out over the field and saw two wolves and the boy approaching, crashing over the wiry little fences, howling.

"Come along." Voldemort said quietly. He had calmly discovered the entrance; a rectangular, flimsy metal door, with one broken hinge, "Don't do anything, unless they charge at you. Let them snarl, let them do whatever they do at a distance, but the moment they fly at you, you may kill any of them. Don't you dare make a premature move, no matter what your instincts tell you."

Voldemort touched it with two fingers and it swung open as quiet as death. Or perhaps the noises from the riotous scene inside had muted any creaking of hinges or steel. Bellatrix heard Jasper gasp beside her in fascination. It was truly a sight.

There were forty men, at least, of all ages, of all sizes, circled on the cement, crowded around an outrageously brutal fight. There were lanterns hovering around the perimeter, illuminating the sprays of blood that spattered the crowd. There was a snapping sound, and then a cheer from the men, and then a thud, and then a cheer from the men, and then a howl that rattled the lights, and then somebody noticed the intruders at the door.

"Hey!" He broke away from the crowd, grabbing a younger man's shoulder. The noise subsided and Bellatrix watched as the collection of scarred and broken faces turned to stare. Somebody snapped his jaws.

But they all parted for the man in the center of the space.

He stepped over the heaving, battered loser of the fight and he brushed past the panting, blood soaked winner.

The werewolf approached the Dark Lord without fear.

"What do you want, sir?" Fenrir's strange voice rumbled bitterly over the soft scuffling of feet. Greyback was an unsettlingly large man, even taller than Voldemort. It appeared that he had been fighting earlier. There were fresh, violet bruises on his left arm and some blood running down his bare chest from his collar. The slacks he wore were spotted with darkness and the hem was frayed. His bare feet were black with dirt.

His face was worst of all, though. He had a full head of sweaty, silver hair. His face was leathery and sickly, with the ghosts of stitches sliding down from his left ear to his neck. His eyes were bright and his slanting teeth were a nauseating sunflower yellow.

Bellatrix gripped her wand with all the strength she had and she stepped closer to the Dark Lord. She had seen werewolves before, but never this many. It wasn't that she was afraid of being harmed, but she felt shock rising within her. She could almost smell the disease in the room. She was sickened by the thought of so many unwell individuals together in the grime where they belonged. It was overwhelming how many there were.

"I'd like an audience with you, Greyback." Voldemort said clearly,

"I thought as much." Fenrir replied, sniffing harshly and licking a bit of blood from his uneven grey beard. The other men had stepped back towards the other end of the silo, "You know, this isn't the most convenient time."

"It is convenient for me."

Just then, a thundering noise was heard from outside. The she-wolf and her comrade were lumbering up the hill, barking and baying.

Voldemort stepped away from the door, followed by Bellatrix and Jasper, who was wringing his hands together. The two beasts entered, just barely fitting through the door, salivating with rage. The transformed while Fenrir questioned,

"Silvia?"

The small woman hastily went to Greyback, who loomed over her,

"What does he want?" She asked under her breath. Fenrir didn't answer her, but merely noted,

"You found something to eat." He leaned near,

"Yes." Silvia said, flustered, "What does he want?"

The man with one ear was standing tall in the doorway, staring at the wizards. The young boy, with bloody hands and deep eyes, had appeared at his side. Bellatrix glared at both of them, being sure that they saw her wand was pointed at them.

Luckily for the two of them, the witch was soothed by Voldemort's unfailing peacefulness. She looked away from the man and the boy and gazed around the space. The other werewolves were shifting, some of them had drawn their wands. Those of them who had abandoned their shirts wore blotchy, weathered skin that was stretched tightly around prominent muscles and hungry ribs. They were hungry. They were already eyeing Bellatrix and Jasper.

"What was it?" Greyback quickly asked Silvia, "Deer again?"

"A gift." Voldemort said clearly while Fenrir put his foul tongue to the young woman's chin and lapped up a taste of the dried blood, "A member of the Order."

"A bribe?" Fenrir raised his eyebrows at Voldemort. Then, he swiftly brought the back of his hand hard across Silvia's face reprimanding her, "God damn, Shunpike! You shouldn't have taken it..."

"We just found it." She barked unapologetically, pressing her hand to her rosy cheek, "We couldn't have known...What's going on?"

"Just wait a minute."

"Please," said the Dark Lord when Fenrir looked to him again. "It wasn't a bribe. It was simply an idea of what I can do for you if you are willing to do business with me." Voldemort, subtly drew his wand from within his cloak and began turning it in his fingers. Fenrir noticed, of course and bristled a little. "Let's talk together."

"Fine." Fenrir said.

.

There were more werewolves in the farmhouse. The moment Fenrir entered the kitchen, he made them turn off the radio. There was dirt pressed into the carpets and there was water on the tiles. Scratches marked the chairs and tables that drunken men lay sprawled on. Everyone was staring hungrily.

They passed quickly from the kitchen to the narrow staircase. Bellatrix and Jasper followed Voldemort, of course, who followed Fenrir, Silvia, and two other men who had been fighting. They passed a girl, who pressed up against the railing to let them pass. Fenrir dragged his gnarled nails over her neck as they passed, but she said nothing and kept her eyes down until Voldemort strode past. Her black eyes roved over the three wizards, but she stayed silent and still.

Bellatrix focused on minding the Dark Lord's cloak on the steps. The calming aroma of his magic was entirely lost since they had entered the house. It had been over powered by the smells of blood and urine and alcohol. Voldemort glanced over his shoulder just once, sensing her fear. She was about to whisper something to him, but he turned quickly when they reached the landing.

The group made its way to a cramped bedroom that was lit by one muggle lamp on the dresser. There were not enough chairs for everyone, so Bellatrix and Jasper stood behind the Dark Lord who sat, straight-backed on a tall stool. Greyback sat in a horrible armchair that looked as if it had been grated up and sewn together again. Silvia Shunpike sprang to perch on the bed with her legs folded beneath her. Her eyes never left Voldemort. The two other men went behind Greyback. One sat on the desk and the other leaned against the window.

"I heard you've made a few deals with the vampires." Fenrir began,

"We've cut our ties with them." Voldemort said smoothly, "They intend on remaining neutral."

"So we are your second choice?"

"Yes," The Dark Lord revealed without hesitation, "And you should be rather grateful for that, I think."

"We are't inferior to you. The uninfected, I mean. Yes, you're powerful, but..."

"It will be to your disadvantage for you to continue to think that."

"What do you want?"

"I would very much like your services in exchange for food, supplies, and money. You would be paid in gold and in fresh meat, I assure you."

"You promised the same thing to Sandaleus twenty years ago. You made a right mess of that."

"If you recall clearly, there were unanticipated circumstances that arose. And I have already spoken with Sandaleus, agreed to reimburse him and given him the offer again. He has joined my current effort."

Fenrir leaned forward, breathing. Silvia shifted too, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. For some reason, Bellatrix looked to her. The way the young woman's dress had risen up, she saw countless scars, shrouded in greenish bruises and a large crater where some of her flesh had been plucked from her thigh.

"You need us?" Greyback questioned coldly,  
"We would appreciate you." Voldemort replied,

"Most of us are wizards. A few of us are purebloods."

"Exactly..."

"Initiate us. Make us Death Eaters." Fenrir demanded, glaring. Bellatrix noticed that the whites of his eyes were a buttery yellow. Perhaps it was just the light. "If we work for you, we'll only do it with that honor."

"You know your place."

"And I know how badly you need us, too. So do it."

"I have offered what I have offered."

"And we ain't takin' it." Silvia interjected suddenly. Voldemort looked to her casually, dismissing her comment before turning back to Fenrir,

"You're saying I'm not as fit for your inner circle as the likes of those two?" Greyback sneered, nodding at Bellatrix and Jasper,

"Precisely." Voldemort said calmly, much to Fenrir's frustration,

"Then find somebody fitter do your grunt work."

"Dark Mark or nothing." Silvia said sternly,

"Your government would, er, limit lycanths, wouldn't it? Persecute us..." Greyback pressed. The two men behind him exchanged a look,

"I'm still undecided as to whether you are healthy or not." Voldemort replied, "Presently, you are not helping your cause. You seem unhygienic, unreliable, and unorganized. Join me and I will change all of that."

"We want to join you properly."

"I'm afraid it cannot be done at the present time." Voldemort said stiffly. Fenrir finally sat back, blowing air out of his large nostrils. He looked to Silvia, who ran a hand over her hair,

"Tell you what..." Greyback began, "You can still have werewolves in your services. You won't need us. You can have all the rubbish you have now. We'll just make it a point to give a little love bite to every one of your Death Eaters we come across. You can get your whole army worked out like that. All of them with lycanthropy. How's that?"

Bellatrix couldn't even cast a spell, it happened so fast.

"Master!" Jasper screamed and tumbled out of the way and into the hall. Bellatrix could only flinch when the man on the desk sprang at her. It was a blur of colors and scraping sounds. Silvia roared, leaping with her bloody hands outstretched There was a shattering noise and a whirling shadow. Then, somebody was bleeding on the floor.

When Bella regained her balance, Voldemort was standing with his back to her, shielding her, his wand smoking from the curse and pointed at Fenrir, who was still sitting with his jaw tense. Voldemort had killed one of the men, the body was rattling on the floor at Greyback's feet. He had hexed the other and cursed Silvia, who had fallen and was staggering to her feet, blood running down her neck. Jasper reentered the room with his wand drawn. For some reason, there was a baby crying.

A toddler was crawling out from beneath the bed where he had been hiding. Bellatrx hissed,

"What's that? A cub!" She brandished her wand as Silvia, with her head dripping, rushed to lift the child into her arms. She held him to her breast. Fenrir glanced at his wailing son and then glared at the Dark Lord with those buttered eyes. Voldemort explained,

"I will put this simply for you. If you want a chance, you will join me. I would speak of virtue of and the need for this cause, but I know you are too simple to appreciate talk of that."

"We're well off without you."

"No you aren't." The Dark Lord scoffed quietly, then continuing, "Don't delude yourself, Fenrir. I am building the best world you could want." Voldemort breathed over the baby's sobs, "I will give back everything that the Ministry has taken for you, if you can prove your worth. Yes, you may be quarantined, but I can promise luxury and peace if you assist me. And that is far more than you have at the present. This is not the time to argue over miniscule details on your part. There is a bigger picture. Pride needs to be put aside when you are the minority. Greyback, we need to unite. This," He nodded to the unfortunate man who had fallen still on the floor, "is the last werewolf that I hope to ever end. If you believe in this cause, I want you to survive the fall of this era. Don't let your honor take you when you have yet to prove yourself. Let your inferiority drive you. I believe that you can rise to the occasion. Do you?"

The man who had been hexed had finally been released. He stood, dumbstruck by the desk, staring at the blood pooling by Fenrir's feet. Silvia had quieted the boy and was supporting herself on the wall. She was clutching her son with white hands, kissing his forehead with her scarlet mouth but never taking her black eyes off of Voldemort.

And Fenrir finally stood and locked eyes with the Dark Lord,

"Yes, I do."

.

Draco sat silently on his bed. His quarters were dark beyond the glow of the oil lamp burning on his desk. The light illuminated the wrinkled issue of The Daily Prophet that lay there and the fringes of the glow shone gold on the smooth edges of the glass vial in his hands. Draco took a breath. Then, he drew his wand and put it to the side of his forehead, closing his eyes and carefully recalling...

They had been in the lowest chamber, below the house. He, his mother, Snape, and two men he had never seen before had stood in the darkness together, watching Voldemort approach with his bone-white wand in his grasp. Voldemort had called Draco near. The boy could remember drawing up his sleeve, to expose the goosepimpled, pale skin of his left forearm. His mother had made a small noise. And then there was pain that brought him crashing to his knees, screaming through his teeth, begging his eyes not to cry. Then the spell finished and the Dark Lord was looming above him. His mother sounded like an animal when she saw the blood dripping from her son's wrist to the floor.

Draco pulled the memory from his mind. It glowed a faint white and drifted painlessly from his head, drawn out by the tip of his wand. With a flick of his wrist, he let it fall into the little, crystal bottle. It swirled like cream in coffee and illuminated the glass. He turned the vial once in his hands after sealing it tightly, making sure nothing would spill out. And then, he set it on his nightstand.

He slid up towards the head of the bed and finally laid down on his back, staring blankly at the intricate embroidery that he had memorized that swirled above him, etched into the emerald canopy. Then his arm hurt again.

Draco yelled quickly and pressed his head back into the satin pillow as hard as he could, breathing deeply before examining the burn again. He couldn't stop looking at it, though he wished he could restrain himself. His left forearm was still wet with a glossy film of puss. The Dark Mark that he now wore was crow black and an incredible scarlet around the edges. It was nearly healed.

Draco tore his eyes from the brand and cast a spell and shut out his light, sending the room into blackness. But he could still feel it. He could feel the pattern on his skin. He could feel the dark magic throbbing in his veins, starting at the Mark, carrying this newly enchanted blood to his heart and back again.

He couldn't have guessed how long he lay there, focusing on the pain, wishing it away, desperate for distraction, but paralyzed. Eventually, there was a timid knock at the door.

"Yes, mum?" He managed, sitting up a little. He knew it was her. A terribly guilty part of him hoped that she didn't need anything. But he knew she did.

"Draco..." came her soft, weary voice and the light from the hallway.

"What is it, mum?" It took a moment for her to answer. Squinting, he could see her there, slanting, leaning against the frame. She had not even changed into her nightrobes yet. She was still wearing what she had worn to dinner, but her hair was down and tangled, "Mum?"

"I'm going to turn on a light." She said as she waved her hand. The small chandelier near the ceiling flickered to life, casting the room in a tired gold and revealing her pale, weathered face. Draco noticed her eyes scanning the room swiftly,

"What is it?" He asked, sitting up against the headboard, feeling another jolt of pain when his Dark Mark brushed a pillow. Narcissa shut the door behind her,

"Nothing." She lied unconvincingly, running a hand through her hair, "Just wanted to tell you to get to sleep."

"Mum, what's wrong?" he asked plainly as she neared him, her robes dragging behind her, and she sat gingerly at the foot of the bed,

"I just woke up and decided..."

"Mum..." Draco sighed, she was looking around the room again, "Please."

"Let me do the spell again." She said, shifting and moving to sit beside him, extending her hand and drawing her wand carefully. Draco rested the back of his wrist in her clammy palm. She whispered,

"Vigoratus atrumle maculae..." The witch waved her wand in the most precise way, concentrating as a pearly string of liquid light fell over her son's searing forearm. Draco ground his teeth and stiffened his back and then relaxed as thin layer of cold, delicate frost formed over the burn. For a moment, all was well. And then, of course, the skin began to steam as the Dark Mark seared white-hot and melted the ice away. "If only I had the energy to do that all day and all night for you."

"Thank you, mum." Draco said, "Now, please, what's wrong."

"The..." she paused and coughed up a nervous sob,

"Can I do anything?"

"It's the snake."

"Where?"

"I don't know. I don't want to know. I want it outside...You know how I saw it in my bathroom once. Just once..."

"Well, I've never seen it in the house."

"I hope you never do." Narciss rambled quickly, as if Nagini could have been listening under the bed to every word she confessed, "There's something horrible about seeing it near your things, among your things. It becomes real. It became real for me, I suppose, the thought of it is bad enough but...Draco, I just wanted to make sure you were all right..."

"Mum..."

"I keep thinking 'what if I wake up and it's at the foot of my bed and has already devoured half of me' and then I think of you, more importantly. Oh," She scolded herself, near tears, "I don't mean to frighten you further..." And the lady stood, frantically trying to collect herself, "Draco..."

"Mum." And then he realized that he should have stowed The Daily Prophet somewhere that she wouldn't see it. But she had already noticed it.

"Oh..." She moaned, snatching up the paper, staring at the cover page, which read,

'LESTRANGE ATTACKS'

"Mum, don't bother..." Draco begged, but Narcissa was already reading, growing paler by the second,

"She's done it. She's really done it. Now they know she's...Oh..." Narcissa threw down the paper,

"She wasn't caught..."

"I wish she had been!" Narcissa steadied herself on the canopy post, her knuckles turning white, "I don't mean it. I apologize. I shouldn't..." She pressed her forehead to the wood, seething and scared.

Then, she felt her son's hand on her back. When Draco held her carefully and put his head on her shoulder, Narcissa could not stop her tears. She turned and took him in her arms. And they sat together, embracing each other while Narcissa quieted herself,

"I'm not going to let anything happen to you." She promised her son,

"If something does happen, please don't blame yourself..."

"Draco, I promise." Narcissa insisted, tragically stern,

"I think I can do it. By next summer I'm sure I'll be able to."

"You can't do it all on your own..."

"I have to. I will."

"Draco, dear. Dearest..." And she pulled him to her tightly while he ignored the panging of his forearm.

Then, a shadow moved past the door. Narcissa jumped, cowering. Draco stood and fumbled to find his wand, but his mother stayed him,

"It's Bella." She said, standing and moving from him, "I'll be back, darling." And his mother swept across the room and left him, shutting the door tightly behind her.

Of course, Draco was up in an instant and had his ear pressed to the keyhole.

"Bella!" He heard his mother call and then he heard her gasp. Bellatrix said something that he couldn't make out, but his mother noted, "Are you hurt? Oh...Clean that up! Oh! It's on your arm..." Bellatrix must have said something else and then he heard Narcissa exclaim, "Werewolves?" And finally, he heard his aunt's cracking voice,

"Calm down. I'll wash. They didn't get me, the Dark Lord got them. Greyback will be helping us."

"The child eater?"

Draco readjusted himself. When he caught up with the conversation again, his mother was scolding his aunt,

"You were seen on the muggle underground!"

"I thought as much."

"The muggles saw!"

"I don't give a damn what work the Ministry has to do for their memories..."

"But that's just it. They drew clear, clear recollections from those muggles. I read the paper! It's all over the paper! You went into a train car to do it? You could have been caught!"

"I was ordered to stop her before she got to the muggle minister, Cissy! It's my business."

"What if they catch you? Efforts will surely be doubled..."

"They won't catch me..." Then there was a horrible pause. Bellatrix must have read his mother's mind, because Draco heard Narcissa screech and say,

"How dare you!"

"How dare YOU!" Bellatrix replied, furious, "Worried that they'd drain my memory and see the boy! You don't..." There was a pause and a shuffling of feet and then Bellatrix called,

"Cissy!"

Draco had to open the door to catch the last bit of the conversation. He saw his mother hurrying towards the stairs with Bellatrix, who was dressed in a long cloak, running after her,

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to Severus!"

"Cissy! Wait. No. Cissy, stop!" And then they disappeared from sight.


	19. Knowing Too Much

Severus lifted his head, trying to ignore the pain in his neck. He was lying on his stomach in the dirt. Breathing deeply, feeling briars press into his chest, he gazed out over the stretching valley.

The Icelandic tundra was silent, except for the whispering of the winds. It was twilight and the last of the sun had finally drawn all the gold from the plain. The little yellow flowers were bending on slim stems and were cast into the warm shadow of the mountains in the west. There were daisies and clover, all untouched until now.

Bellatrix was slithering up the incline, just behind Severus. Metal clanked as she crawled on her belly and came to rest beside him, giving away an idea as to how many knives she had concealed, sheathed tightly, under her robes. Snape shifted a little, resting on his arm and nodding across the tundra,

"About a kilometer." He told her. They looked like two, fierce wildcats eyeing their pretty.

Bellatrix pushed her head up a bit more, not caring about the little cluster of burs that had latched onto her sleeve. Licking her lips, she ogled at the little, neat-looking shack that sat peacefully across the field.

"How are you going to do it?"

"Killing curse."

"Only?"

"It's all the time I want to waste on him." Severus stared out at the shack for another moment or two, ignoring Bellatrix's ragged, anxious breathing. He thought only of a wizard named Igor Karkaroff who had run out of cowardice, not rebellion. But, even so...

"Come on, come on! Ready?" She asked him with a drop of poison in her tone.

Severus didn't answer. He simply began to get to his feet. She did the same, brushing her hair out of her eyes but leaving the dirt on her dress. Snape, standing, drew his wand before she did, but she cast the spell first. They aimed at the little shack,

"Anguinfrengio" Their wands jerked back, Bellatrix was forced to hold hers with both hands. Snape had to stagger. The Dark Lord's spell made their hands shake and their palms burn, but it worked. The field rippled with magic. There were hundreds of snapping sounds and suddenly the air smelled like smoke, but the sky remained clear. Finally, in a rush of wind, the invisible barriers they were trying to end, burst apart. The tundra looked no different than it had a moment ago, but the witch and wizard knew that they had succeeded.

Finally, Snape threw an anti-apparation charm towards the distant house, which made the air glow scarlet for a moment. There was no way Karkaroff could escape...

Bellatrix took off running immediately. Snape followed her, watching her kicking up her heels, sprinting through the gloaming like a gleeful girl. She crashed over the ankle-high brambles that wove their way over the field. She trampled clover and weeds and her hair was whipping behind her. Flies and moths dove out of her path. She screamed,

"Igor! You've got company, Igor!"

Snape prayed that Igor could hear her. He prayed that the wizard might prepare himself. But even her voice was lost in the vastness of the terrain. Karkaroff would never hear them coming. Hopefully he would see them...

Both of them were winded by the time they reached the barbed fence around the shack, but they flew at it. Bellatrix sent a smoldering spell splattering against the barrier, melting the iron. She passed through the smoking gap and went straight for the screen door on the side of the house. Snape was quick after her, desperate for the chance to give the man a fast death.

The inside of the shack was enchanted, enormous and fully furnished. What should have been a one-roomed, gloomy space was a well dressed home. There were corridors and a sitting room behind a door that Bellatrix had already demolished. It was dark, of course, so the two of them had lit their wands. Bellatrix was already tearing through the place, sending fur rugs flying, breaking down any door she could find,

"Igor! We've found you!" She was hollering,

Snape inhaled, gazed about, and then peacefully uttered,

"Homenum Revelio." There was no response from the house. No one was there except for the two of them. "Bellatrix!" Snape called, "Stop. He's not here!"

There was one last crashing noise from the study and then she appeared in the doorframe, sweating and shaking with anticipation.

"Liar."

"Check for yourself. You know the spell."

"Homenum Revelio." She said hastily, receiving the same result,

"Clean up." Snape said darkly,

"We're waiting for him?"

"Yes." Snape said. His heart was racing.

He glanced around at Igor Karkaroff's things. It was a lavish place, just as he could have guessed. There were paintings and maps on the walls, the oil lamps were polished, and Bellatrix was mending the cracks she had made in the pristine, tile floor. Snape aided her and, with a wave of his wand, set a door back on its' hinges.

There was something horrible about the still, calm, particular emptiness of the place. It was exactly as it would be once Karkaroff was killed.

"Let's wait at the door."

"At the window." Snape advised, not looking to see if Bellatrix was scowling or not.

There was only one window, of course, in order to keep up the illusion that the interior of the shack was smaller than it had been enchanted to be. It was in the kitchen. Snape left Bellatrix to her work and went to pull the thin drapes back ever so slightly. He looked out over the empty tundra and heard Bellatrix enter the room.

The kitchen was simpler than the entry way or the sitting room. Snape took a chair and folded his hands in his lap.

There were marble counter tops, a steel table. It almost looked rather muggle, which did not comfort Bellatrix at all. She strode through the door, running her nails lightly along the wall, staring at Severus in the dusky dimness that flooded the small space. His silhouette was outlined before the window, sitting proud in his chair. She bit the insides of her cheeks and slowed her breathing.

Snape did not flinch, even when Bellatrix loomed over him,

"Where is he, then?"

"My guess is no better than yours..." he answered quietly,

"Really?"

"Really." Snape said coldly. Bellatrix began to tug habitually at a strand of her hair near her ear,

"If Greyback gave us a false trail..." she growled,

"You'll kill him, I know. But that won't be necessary. This is, without a doubt, Karkaroff's magic. "

"You knew him well."

"Of course." Snape looked up at her, breathing in. She was frowning,

"Close friends, I heard."

"Until he betrayed..."

"You going to be sad when he's gone?" Bellatrix tempted. Snape simply stared at her with his relentless, black eyes. She chuckled, showing her grey teeth, and tossed her head a little, "Will you?"

"What do you think I'm going to say, Bellatrix?" He said calmly,

"I'm sick of your games!" She suddenly fired, gripping the tabletop and leaning towards him,

"And I'm sick of yours." Snape didn't flinch, "You should really focus your energy for the task at hand..."

"You're always avoiding. You're always, "she rasped, clearing her throat, snarling in his face, "You're always deflecting..." By now, she had one hand clutching the back of his chair, trapping him,

"I answered everything you would need answered when Narcissa sought my help two weeks ago."

"Remind me." Bellatrix begged maliciously. He could smell her stale breath. She was so close.

"I won't humor you."

"You know why you're here, Snape?"

"To kill Igor Karkaroff. " He paused and managed to note before she could speak again, "Bellatrix, you were not ordered to interrogate me."

"You know why you're sent to do it?"

"Because I am an efficient and effective substitute for Lucius Malfoy." He answered promptly,

"No," she chortled expectedly, "Because the Dark Lord doesn't trust you. He doesn't believe you. He thinks your loyalties are waning."

"Let him think so. After tonight I will prove myself yet again." Snape said coolly, "Though, I was under the impression that he sent me here in order to look after you and clean up when you make a bold, rash mess of things..."

"You aren't my superior."

"That is for the Dark Lord to decide, not for you to interpret."

"You speak too boldly, Snape." She bit, glaring at him,

"No, you speak too boldly, Bellatrix." Severus stated, "It seems as if you always think you speak for the Dark Lord himself instead of trusting his judgments."

"The nerve!" Bellatrix screeched, rearing back, "You don't know a thing-" and then, Severus sat straight and turned swiftly to stare out the window. Bellatrix moved back, silenced, and looked out on the tundra as well, "What?" Severus held up a finger and Bella moved nearer to the window, squinting, "Is he..."

"Maybe."

"It's all dark, how can you..." She trailed off, rubbing her hands together.

Indeed, night had swept over the tundra. Bella whispered in the dark, "So when he comes in, I'll bind him up and you finish him. " She paused and then added, "You better finish him..."

"As planned." Snape said robotically, turning back to her and noticing she was staring at him in the dimness. Since the dusk had transformed into blackness outside, the kitchen was left to pallid moonlight. But she was illuminated there, drenched in gloom, half of her looking beautiful in the murky dark and the rest of her looking raw and skeletal in the moonshine. With the shadows on her face, she appeared faintly as she had in Voldemort's memories when Snape had explored there. He blinked hard,

"You shouldn't be the one protecting Draco." Bellatrix said suddenly. Snape shifted in his seat,

"You were terribly eager to get me alone, weren't you?"

"I'd really like to do something terrible to you right now." She confessed heatedly. Snape didn't doubt that she was tempted,

"You wouldn't. It would be catty, really, to harm me. You don't need to earn the Dark Lord's favor by such deeds..."

"Narcissa shouldn't have trusted you with it."

Bellatrix let her opinions spill from her mouth. It was easier to accuse him with the moonlight behind him, with his face all in shadow, without his unreadable eyes boring into her,

"She had no right. It's as if she assigned you the task of killing Dumbledore. You know Draco will fail..."

"If the Dark Lord wishes for someone else to do it should Draco fail, I suppose I will simply die."

"Wouldn't that be awful?" She pouted poisonously, then adding, "What if I should tell the Dark Lord about the Unbreakable Vow you've made with my sister..."

"Then he will know that you consented to oversee it and cast it." Snape finished plainly, "Now, please. I want to concentrate before Karkaroff comes."

"How long?"

"He will have to return for the night." Severus watched Bellatrix move to sit on the counter impatiently and twiddle her wand between her lean fingers. By now, his eyes had adjusted well to the blackness.

He had slipped in and out of her thoughts earlier in the day, unnoticed by her, desperate for and dreading what he would find there. In the dark, he tried to recall as much as he could. He had witnessed werewolves in her recollections, which made his chest hurt with worry. Beyond that, there had been a dreadfully murky few moments of memory that must have been modified well. There had been echoes of voices and mist, though he did not know why.

And then, Severus sat forward in his chair as his thoughts roamed to what he had seen in Voldemort's eyes. With Bellatrix before him, now, he felt his stomach churn. She wasn't acting differently. How long had it been going on?

Severus drew his wand. There was a dangerously persuasive urge within him to send a Killing Curse at her right now and rob the Dark Lord of her companionship; of what happiness he gained from her. If Snape killed her now, killed her himself, he might finally be at peace.

He looked to her, clicking her heels together anxiously while she sat there, never taking her gaze from the window. Would revenge satisfy him? What if it didn't?

He knew it wouldn't. And so he stayed his hand and set his wand on the table quietly, away from his eager hands.

Then, there was a light outside. Both of them turned swiftly and silently. Snape's chest twisted.

Bellatrix slid from the counter to stand and watch from a distance as Karkaroff appeared outside the window as he strode to the door. He did not notice the singed hole in the barbed fence.

Igor had lit his wand and was fumbling for the key, which hung at his neck.

Snape saw Karkaroff's pale face in the glow. He was unshaven and had earned himself frightening, violet rings beneath his light eyes. His graying hair had turned white, it seemed.

The door clicked.

Severus, who had stayed seated, heard Bellatrix move from her place beside him and then she disappeared into the shadows.

The door opened.

"No!" He heard Karkaroff gasp,

Snape took up his wand. His hand was, surprisingly, still and steady.

There was a flash of red from the entryway that managed to illuminate the kitchen. There was a scream and a horrible laughter.

Severus stood, thinking only of Lily Evans. He closed his eyes for a moment and then began towards his task,

"No! No!" He heard Igor crying desperately. The door slammed. Karkaroff was trapped.

"Got out of Azkaban early, did you?" Bellatrix was screaming

"No!"

"Traitor! How could you betray him! How could you!" Bellatrix cried wildly.

Snape stepped through the door, into the entryway. Igor's lit wand was abandoned on the carpet, still gleaming.

Karkaroff was already on the floor and there was scarlet in his shock-white hair and down the neck of his fur coat. Blood surged through his teeth when he wailed,

"Severus! Severus! Please! Please! Please! Severus!"

And then Bellatrix fell upon him, shrieking.

.


	20. Alone In The Dark

Narcissa rapped softly on the bedroom door,

"Bella?" She called quietly and was greeted by silence from the chamber beyond and the singing from the birds in the tall tree just outside of the window at the end of the corridor. She was still dressed in her nightrobes and trailing, satin housecoat.

Bellatrix had been at dinner last night, but she had not come down for breakfast. And Narcissa had loathed herself all morning for being almost relieved to have half a day without her sister in the house. But, it had not been as peaceful as she would have imagined it to be. It had been just her and Draco in the dining room, quietly finishing their tea and black pudding. The sun was already gushing through the windows, casting the enormous room into grey dawn light. Draco was leaning back in his chair. And it was when his mother's tired eyes fell out of focus for a moment that she realized how like his father he looked. He was sitting where Lucius used to sit, near to her, years ago. His eyes were his father's, his hands were his father's, the way he looked at her to console her when she gave a startled gasp at her own thoughts...She had gotten up and left the table immediately.

Now, with the morning far behind her, alone in the hall, the witch brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and then turned the doorknob. She stepped inside tentatively to find the sprawling, sunlit room abandoned.

Venturing further, she passed a half finished note on the desk. The inkbottle had been left open, the quill sat pointing to the blank lower half of the parchment. The bed was all made up, though. Bella's medicinal potion on the nightstand was, it seemed, untouched.

Narcissa turned and surveyed the dim room slowly. After a month, her sister's particular flare had crept up everywhere. Aging photographs were stuck in the strangest of places: on one of the posts of the bed, on the edge of the windowpane, just above the doorknobs of the wardrobe. Miniature, unfinished, ugly craft projects were scattered on the floor. She was used to those, used to sealed letters on the desk, but now the parchment there was exposed, the ink was fresh...

Did she dare?

Narcissa, peered over her shoulder at the door, which she had left ajar, and then moved swiftly and quietly towards the desk. She glanced twice more to the hall before holding back her hair and leaning to read what her sister had written.

There were spells, it seemed, scrawled in her slanting script. Some of them had descriptions beneath them that Narcissa had to squint to see. Narcissa choked a little when she saw,

'Viscenficio – draws the heart from the throat if sustained long enough.' next to it, in the margin, circled, was a not that read, 'Teach Draco'

Then, there was a fierce, sudden round of shouting from somewhere. Narcissa couldn't help but start and scream, leaping back from the desk, hitting the back of her leg against the leather chair.

First, she looked to the door, terrified. No one was there. She managed a breath.

The shouting didn't cease and it kept her heart hammering. She put a hand to her head to steady herself and then drew her wand, listening. It was coming from outside.

She staggered to the window on her numb legs and tore back a section of the drapes. She blinked in the harsh sunlight. Her mind was ablaze with fear of aurors. But what she saw coming up the drive was far worse than anything the Ministry could have conjured. Her breath left her for a moment as she gaped, her face losing any color it had retained.

She had to warn Draco.

The halls were blurs as she flew past them. Part of her wanted to run to her room, lock herself away, but she had to find her son before...

The doors slammed in the front hall and the noise could be heard through the entire manor. Narcissa froze in the vast, spiraling stairwell, desperately clenching her teeth so she wouldn't start crying again.

Just then, Draco appeared on the landing above her, peering down. With the light behind him, it was terribly easy to mistake him for his father,

"Mum?" He called innocently. She shooed him away frantically, her voice had flown from her, "What's going on..."

"Narcissa!" Came a ringing, cold voice that rattled the crystal on the chandeliers, "Come, this instant!"

Draco shuddered when the Dark Lord's voice vibrated through the floor, through the walls, through his breast. He was calling his mother like a dog. And Draco saw the witch tear her gaze from his, release her white-knuckled grip of the railing, and disappear. The boy, immediately bolted to catch up with her and join her for whatever awaited in the entrance hall.

.

"Set him down, Bella." Voldemort ordered, taking the wand away from his throat after he had performed the Sonorus spell. His breaths shallow with eagerness, "Save your strength."

"Yes, my Lord." She replied seriously and swiftly, withdrawing her spell and letting the squirming body that was suspended in the air fall to the black tile with a crack. The victim's wrinkled hands were bound, as were his ankles, and there was a sack secured over his head, tied too tightly around his thin neck. Immediately, Bellatrix went to him and began to whisper dark things to where she suspected his ear was. The wizard stiffened with terror.

Fenrir Greyback, who stood with Sylvia at his side, smelled Narcissa's perfume before she appeared.

"Your Lordship. The woman." He growled, wiping a bit of sweat from his brow.

Voldemort turned to see the blonde witch dashing around the corner of the railing. When she began to stumble down the stairs, her wand foolishly in her hand, the Dark Lord called to her,

"The dungeons. Where are they?"

Narcissa stopped before she reached the last steps, steadying herself on the railing. She was muted with shock. Someone was bound and bleeding in her doorway. Voldemort was there, with her sister, and two horrible looking people who were licking their lips and leering at her,

"The..." She began weakly, surveying the scene. Noticing the body on the floor, suddenly, her heart jerked and she had to scream, "Is that my husband?" Voldemort merely flicked his tongue, drinking in the scent of her fright. Bellatrix looked up, with wide, sleepless eyes as Narcissa half collapsed, leaning on the rail, begging, "My Lord, please!"

"Where is the dungeon?" Voldemort repeated quietly, inhaling again,

"I...please...They..." She began,

"I smell something else." Fenrir snarled, "Something younger..." He sniffed lasciviously, squinting beyond Narcissa, who turned and saw Draco, panting against a wall out of the corner of her eye.

"Draco. That must be Draco." Voldemort said, moving forward, "Boy!" He called, "Your mother is embarrassingly incoherent and dangerously disobedient. Tell me where the dungeons are, so I do not lose my patience with her."

Narcissa was sitting on the stairs now and she began to sob when her son emerged from behind the pillar, pale-faced and youthful,

"My Lord," He said as clearly as he could, his arms folded so that no one would see them shaking, "The cellar is down that way, all the way down the steps. I've never been there, but beneath there, my-my father said, behind the shelves with the wine," He swallowed, not meeting the Dark Lord's blazing stare, "tap three times on the darkest brick. That's what-that's what he said."

Before Draco had even finished, Voldemort had nodded to Bellatrix to levitate the captive again, who cried out in surprise. Narcissa gasped, desperate for her son to stay near,

"Bella, take him there."

"Yes, Master."

"Oh!" Wailed Cissa as Bellatrix, without even looking at her, disappeared around a wall.

"Greyback, Shunpike, off with you." Voldemort said callously, turning from the Malfoys

"May we have a bite? You promised..." Sylvia begged greedily,

"Not now." He said, throwing a blazing spell at her neck. She jolted and yelped and then ran behind Fenrir, who was glaring at the Dark Lord, "Go." The pair slunk out of the house, both of them giving one last hungry look to the mother and son on the steps.

Narcissa dared not lift her head from the side of the railing to see if Voldemort was still there. She focused on the warmth of Draco's hand on her shoulder,

"The captive will stay here." Voldemort's voice came while he walked away towards the entrance to the cellar, "And so will I, when I need to. I've decided that your home is the most convenient location for our new headquarters. You should be honored." And he was gone.

Narcissa folded into her son's shaking arms, the pair of them collapsed on the steps,

"No, no, no, no..." She repeated into his chest, whimpering "I can't...He can't...No...I can't..."

Draco hoped she didn't hear the cellar door open and release a few horrific screams. He held his mother fiercely, his cheeks flushed with anger and terror,

"Mum." He managed. She felt weak in his embrace, she wouldn't hold him back, she had her hands folded at her collar as if she were praying to something, "Let's get you upstairs..."

"And what if it's Lucius! What if it's your father..."

"It's not! It's not." Draco said, convincing himself, too,

"How do you know?"

"I don't...I..." the boy then realized something dark. If it had been his father, Voldemort would have killed him in front of his mother, "No, I do know. I can't tell you why I do, but I just do. I promise that isn't dad." And she wailed wordlessly into his arm, "Sh..." He felt strange, rocking his mother back and forth as if she were a child,

"When you go-go to school. And I'm alone...he'll be..."

"That won't be for a while."

"But it will happen." She said dismally, "And I'll just have Bellatrix." Suddenly, she threw her arms around her son, confessing, "I need your father. I need him. I need him. I need him...I..." And then her voice left her again and she wept into his chest, hearing his heartbeat, secretly wishing she could be in the arms of her husband,

"Mum, you are stronger than you think..." Staring at the blood glimmering on the tile, Draco kissed Narcissa's hair lightly.

.

"I will not...work...for you!" rasped Ollivander, sweat dripping from his hair and onto the cold floor of the dungeon. The old wandmaker was still bound, but his blindfold had been removed. He hung upside down in the air, levitated by the Dark Lord, with Bellatrix circling him, eye to eye with her. She spit in his face.

His eyes were milky blue and tearing up, his wrinkled, waxy skin was glossy, his white hair was spotted with scarlet from the struggle on the way to the Manor. He had been stripped of his robes by Bellatrix and left in his trousers and dress shirt, which was torn terribly,

"Now, now, Bella." Voldemort said, raising a hand. She looked at him curiously, her wand twitching in her hand, "One moment."

The dungeon beneath Malfoy Manor were darkly beautiful. It was a small space, but the walls were high. While most of the house was a silvery marble, beneath the cellar, the dungeon was lined with smooth, black stone. The ceilings arched, but were veiled by a web of chains and wire. Blue light flickered from lanterns hung all around the circular space,

"Ollivander." The Dark Lord said casually, "You have family..."

"I told them to hide were I ever taken... You'll never find them." Ollivander choked.

"Are you willing to take that risk?" Voldemort was standing near the sleek wall, two lamps close behind him, throwing his pale face into shadows. He watched Bellatrix smiling beside the ancient wandmaker.

"What do you want." Ollivander seethed with all the strength he had left,

"Your talent. It is a beautiful gift and you are wasting it on individuals who are unworthy of your skills."

"Lies."

"Truth, actually." Voldemort nodded, "All of this will stop. Your family will be kept safe, they will be notified of your safety, you can have a workshop set up right here with anything you'd need..."

"I..."

"I can get you anything."

"You'll steal it."

"I'm not so uncivilized, Ollivander. I will purchase whatever you need. I just cannot have you giving wands away to those who cannot use them properly..." At this, the wandmaker shook his head and sighed painfully, retorting,

"You think you have used yours properly? All of those curses...Riddle, you need to realize-" And then, he felt pain blaze against his neck. With the blood rushing to his head, the movement made his vision darken. Bellatrix's nails had found him once, twice, and then finally Voldemort ordered,

"Bella. That's enough." And she retreated, hissing, "Ollivander. Do we understand each other?"

"If you touch my family, I'll kill myself..."

"If you stop working for me, I'll kill your family. So it's your responsibility to keep them alive, really." Voldemort admitted, moving his willowy fingers up and down, turning Ollivander right side up again in the air. The old man gasped and relaxed his shoulders, "First, you will refer to me as Lord or Master."

"Neither."

"We shall see." Voldemort sighed, lowering the elderly wizard to the floor, "However, until we get the materials you need, you shall have to be patient." Bellatrix immediately shot a jarring curse at him and he yelled in surprise. Black, leather cords swiftly snaked up his ankles and bound him tightly, all the way to his neck. He fell on his side with a cry as Voldemort explained,

"And, you see how Bellatrix's shot is a bit slow? She's using her old wand. She will be needing a new one, first. Take this time, these few days, to decide on a design." Bellatrix flew to her master's side, her sleepless eyes bright,

"My Lord! You are so gracious..."

"Of course." The Dark Lord said quietly to her,

Ollivander was crying now,

"What will become of my shop?" he asked pitifully, while Voldemort turned out each lantern with a flick of his finger,

"I haven't decided."

"Please..."

"Let us see how brilliantly you perform. Then I will give you an answer."

"And my own wand?" Ollivander asked to the darkness. A snapping of wood and a dripping of indigo sparks answered him. He gave a dry sob in the darkness. And then he was alone.

.

Voldemort folded discarded the broken pieces of Ollivander's beautiful, shining wand. They clattered to the floor in the gloom. He heard Bellatrix clambering up the stairs gracelessly behind him, occasionally slipping. He drew his wand,

"Lumos Maxima." The winding, steep staircase shone under the white light. The steps were, surprisingly pristine, enchanted to never succumb to dust or pests,

"Thank you, again, my Lord..." Bellatrix said, running her fingers over her old wand,

"You work inefficiently with it. I have attributed all of your mishaps to the wand's troubles. Once you have a new one, there will be no excuse..." He said strictly,

"Of course." She said quietly, being very careful not to step on his trailing cloak.

Finally, the pair reached the cellars. Instead of the cool, watery air from below, they were immersed in the smell of wine and bread and coffee. The stores were vast and the shelves were all overstuffed with spices and bottles. Vines and branches grew across the ceiling with fresh, golden apples and peaches hanging there. In the red lantern light, it was quite lovely.

Voldemort sealed the passage shut after Bellatrix, lifting her skirts, strode over the threshold. In one graceful sweep of his hand, he drew an intricate web of iron bars across the gap in the wall, then he replaced the bricks over it perfectly. Bellatrix, of course, admired his work.

He turned to her, gazing at her in the low light. She stepped back a bit, around the barrels of wine,

"I will be staying here.

"It's confirmed, my Lord? This is your new headquarters?" Bellatrix asked wringing her hands together,

"Yes." Voldemort said simply, moving past her, brushing her arm so she shivered a little, "What is your sister's best room?"  
"I don't know about the finest...that would be something for Narcissa to determine. But the marital suite..." She said swiftly, her eyes clinging to him as he moved away, among the shelves, "I...it is an honor to have you..."

"This is not permanent. Perhaps for a month. I will rarely be here."

"I...even, so, my Lord. Thank you."

"It is nothing to you nor the Malfoy family, Bella." He said, turning cold, suddenly, "It is simply a convenient test of your sister's loyalties."

"Understandably, my Lord." She said meekly, then, he turned to her,

"You will inform me of anything questionable that she says. Anything..." Voldemort looked into her tired eyes, "Do you understand?"

"Yes, certainly, Master."

"Would you kill your sister yourself, if her loyalty wanes?"

"Yes, My Lord." Bella said with dangerous earnestness

There, in the glowing rose light, his magic was mixed with the smell of liquor. It would be as it had been Riddle Manor. She had deeply missed knowing he was there. Her night terrors had returned since he had left her.

If he was staying here occasionally, she might be able to be at peace in the uneasy hours of the night. It would be easier to calm herself and picture him somewhere, keeping watch in the house. Perhaps, in front of her bedroom door. Perhaps, at the side of her bed. Perhaps, it would be even easier for her to think of the feel of his touch trailing up her arm to her neck...

Bellatrix looked away swiftly, her blood racing.

Voldemort had certainly caught a glimpse of her imagination. Immediately his reprimand struck her in a scarlet flash,

"Crucio!" He snapped, whipping his wand twice and lashing out at the witch with the curse. It hit her squarely in the chest, sending her careening backwards and into a shelf. A few jars fell and shattered around her feet. She slid to the ground, coughing and whimpering, "You dare...You dare think of such sick ideas!" He said suddenly, "I thought you had learned."

"Forgive me."

"Why?" He tempted venomously,

"I..."

"Crucio." He cast the spell quietly so it slowly climbed up her legs. She squirmed and cried, "Your audacity is unfailing." The Cruciatis Curse, in a snaking, red rope of light, slithered up her thighs, to her stomach, and then progressed, rattling her heart a little. Bellatix bit at her lips, drawing blood, drowning in the blinding pain. "Disgusting..." She let loose a long, trembling scream that flooded Voldemort's ears,

"My Lord!"

And then he withdrew the spell quickly, looking away, panting with anger.

"Filthy." He said, finally, before leaving the cellar, ascending into the afternoon sunlight.

Bellatrix was left there, tealeaves and glass strewn around her while she sat, hiding her face in her hair.

How could he expect her to forget that moment before they fled the Riddle Manor? The phantom touch of his fingers was always there. She knew she should erase the memory, but she knew she would never.


	21. War

"_You need to stop thissss." _ Nagini uttered, staring from the rug, coiling herself close. She received no response from the blackness of the chamber. There was only one candle left burning, in the furthest corner of the room. It cast the bedchamber into ghostly gloom. All that could be seen were dusky, fraying shadows but the serpent stared at him sitting there. Nagini clenched her jaw, shivering with restrained wrath. She drew back her head, "_This is absurd. "_

"_Leave."_ Voldemort's cold voice met her in the almost-dark.

"_How can you do this..."_

_ "I do what I must."_

_ "What you must? No, you're doing what you wish to..."_

_ "Perhaps." Came his voice again, "Nagini, go."_

_ "This is too much..."_

_ "Leave."_

_ "We cannot afford this! If you ignore me any longer, you will regret it."_

_ "This is nothing." _

_ "It is dangeroussss..." the snake hissed, "it already feels dangerous. You know it." _

There was a silence. Nagini produced shallow hisses and there was a rustle of fabric somewhere in the chamber. The snake flicked her tongue, asking cruelly,

"_What is the matter with you?"_

_ "I don't know, Nagini." _Voldemort replied sharply,

_ "Don't call me that, not now, not alone."_

_ "Certainly. And I suppose that's because you'd like me to be sure to remember that you are a piece of me, meaning we are one in the same. So, yes, I'll remember that. But you remember this. You are not superior. I have extracted you from myself. I am the original, the best. I am the one that has human form. I can conduct magic. I have more of me within me than you do. Advise me, yes. But never order me to..."_

_ "Listen to you_!" The snake fired, slithering father into the shadows, closer to the Dark Lord_, "Listen to you! As if you were a proud, ignorant boy!"_

_ "But you know your place..."_

_ "This new body of yours has absolutely infantilized you. Acting on a whim...becoming defensive when you know I am right..."_

_ "This is the only way I have found to remedy anything."_

_ "Succumbing?" _Nagini shot,

_ "Enduring."_

_ " Restrain yourself."  
"That was far less effective. I will not..."_

_ "Why? Because your body would grow ill with want? Because you can control every dark power on this earth, but not petty carnal desires?"_

_ "I am entitled to hunger. I am entitled to thirst..."_

_ "You must eat to live. You must drink to live. What is this?"_

_ "As far as I'm concerned, this must simply be another sort of function that I-"_

_ "It is not a necessity. You don't need whatever this is in order to survive."_

_ "Am I not allowed to do as I please? Am I not allowed..."_

_ "Pleasures? Luxuries? Because you cannot deny that this is neither a pleasure of a luxury. _

_ "Rest. Am I not allowed rest..."_

_ "It is a burden. It is a bother. It is a mossssst dangerous thing above all."_

_ "Then what am I to do?"_

_ "Ssstop."_

_ "You don't fully understand..." Said Voldemort, _

_ "Neither do you. You have no idea what you are dealing with."_

_ "I do. It is desire."_

_ "It is weakness..."_

_ "Not necessarily. It becomes weakness when she is conscious and emotional or when I rely on specifically her. I should not be worried by basic carnality."_

_ "What if it is need?"_

_ "It is certainly not that."_

_ "But how can you tell that it isn't? What differentiates desire from need? What is your definition at this point, do enlighten me..."_ The serpent pried poisonously, glaring at his shadow, "_Because it seems as though you need her in order to satisfy yourself..."_

"_Don't patronize me."_

_ "I do not patronize the strong."_

_ "You could not possibly comprehend this..."_

_ "What?" the serpent snapped, "What wouldn't I comprehend..."_

_ "You are concealed within a reptilian form. Human and reptile, your physical incarnation functions on its own. You, bodiless, ungrounded, do not feel it working. You do not have it effecting you..."_

_ "Blaming your new, human form, are you? I recall you deeming it 'perfect'. Now what? You're a slave to it?"_

_ "I am in control."_

_ "This wasn't a problem before. Not in our original incantation..."_

_ "I am well aware. And that is why you cannot understand. I'm learning how to navigate this new body and..."_

_ "So it is imperfect, after all." _The serpent hissed,

_ "No. It is simply different."_

_ "You dare to think that this is not a problem? This...shameful debility? That is ignorant of you. Why aren't you wary?"_

_ "I am."_

_ "Clearly, you aren't. Suppose you've been cursed? It's Dumbledore's cursed mirror that you say confirmed the idea..."_

_ "You act as if I am powerless against this."_

_ "Only because you act as thought you are."_

_ "I'm telling you, you don't understand..."_

_ "Prove yourself. Prove it. Ease my nerves. Ease your nerves."_

_ "Whatever will satisfy you and keep you silent. I'm tired with arguing. You know how it hurts us..."_

_ "Send her away," _The serpent demanded quietly, "_This instant."_

The Dark Lord inhaled.

He was seated on the bed, leaning against one of the ornate, silver posts, the black robes he wore like a dark stain on the white lace of the comforter. Bellatrix was lying on the edge beside him, cursed. Her head heavy and unmoving in his lap. Voldemort's fingers were unmoving and tangled in her mad curls. He felt her shoulders rise and fall against his thigh with her sedated breaths. She was still and silent and her neck was cold with sweat,

"_Send her away."_ Came Nagini's frigid, fuming voice again. Voldemort looked up to glare at her, "_You have no time to spare."_

_ "I have often..." _The Dark Lord began, but his horcrux persisted,

_ "Could you kill her?"_

_ "Yes."_

_ "Now? Would you kill her now?"_

_ "I could. But there is no need to."_

_ "There may be a great need." Nagini hissed hungrily, "She is the cause of all of this..."_

_ "Which would be more beneficial, Nagini, ending a temporary discomfort for us or keeping one of the best weapons that we have trained alive and well..."_

_ "Temporary discomfort!" _The serpent scoffed, "_Temporary discomfort. This is unlike us. Why do you refuse to awknowledge that this could be a curse, that this could be our undoing! Death might be on that woman's lips. You may have been bewitched by Dumbledore himself and you are content to sit there. You say she is your best weapon. What if she is Dumbledore's?"_

_ "I can read her thoughts..."_

_ "I don't mean to suggest she is a spy. That would be absurdity. I mean to suggest that Dumbledore may have done something to you, not her..."_

_ "You doubt our powers?"_

_ "No. I doubt your judgement. It is corrupted by..."_

_ "Any curse we would have recognized. There is no curse that can..."_

_ "Send her away!" _Nagini interrupted, rearing back_,_

_ "This is nothing!"_

_ "Lies. Regardless of anything else, she is wasting your time! At this point, I don't care what you do once all of this is finished. We have dreamed of the day when we can sit for hours and not worry about death nearing with every second. That day is almost here. We are still mortal!"_

_ "Stop."_

_ "This is ridiculous! What is wrong with you? Just send her off! If you cannot do that, right now, this instant, then it proves your weakness!" _

There was a tempestuous pause.

Bellatrix rose up from the bed in the darkness at Voldemort's will. She stood before her Master silently, numbly.

Quickly, Voldemort got to his feet and drew his fingers up to the witch's forehead. In the blue-green glow of the memory charm that flickered from Voldemort's palm, Bellatrix's fogged, pearly eyes were illuminated for a moment. She staggered back a little as darkness fell again, still imperiorized.

Nagini gave a deeply satisfied hiss while Voldemort went to Bellatrix again and pressed two fingers to her temple. White light flowed into the witch's mind and glowed against the side of her face, making the sweat on her cheek and nose shine. When the false memory had been implanted and blackness took over the Malfoy marital suite once again, the Dark Lord waved his hand and the double doors swung open and slammed against the wall, making the shadowy chandeliers shake. And the snake sensed Bellatrix blindly trudging out of the bedroom and into the study.

Voldemort flicked his wrist and the doors at the far side of the other room opened slowly for the retreating, cursed woman. The light from the hallway was faint, but it traced its way around Bellatrix's crow-black silhouette. The dark train of her shadow dragged behind her, flowing from the hem of her robes. Then, she turned out of the suite and was lost to the corridor.

Before he even closed the doors of the study, Voldemort's horcrux was slithering around his feet, hissing nothings. Alone with his soul again, he sat as he had sat before, against the bed post, staring up to where the chandelier was just a cluster of crooked shadows. But now, instead of Bellatrix's cold face and coarse hair beneath his hand, there was Nagini's armored neck.

"_Now, to business..." _Voldmort said calmly,

_ "Have you settled on an intended assassin yet?"_

_ "If Draco succeeds, I won't need to worry about that."_

_ "But he will fail."_

_ "I understand. But I will make my decisions when the time comes..."_

_ "Is that wise?"_

_ "Well, I am considering a few of the most deserving of the honor."_

_ "Who? Snape, Spade, Bellatrix. But Severus might be too useful as a spy to be given the honor. It all depends on when Draco is finished..." _

_ "Yesss. I suppose. And the Potter boy?"_

_ "The boy." _Voldemort uttered gravely, "_I believe it is as we thought. The calm before the storm."_

_ "He must know he is doomed."_

_ "He will be foolish. He will try."_

_ "Let him. Let him. He has none of his mother's magic..."_

_ "I often wish there would be no resistance."_

_ "I know." _Voldemort ran his fingers over her scaled brow before the serpent slunk up his arm and touched his neck in the gloom. She flicked her thin tongue,

"_Stop thinking of her." _Nagini said abruptly_, "You are weak." _

"_This body is weak." _Voldemort said definitely_, "We are not._"

"_Then create a new body."_ She constricted his arm tightly,

_ "I worked too hard for this one to simply..."_

_ "So you settle for imperfection?" _Nagini bared her fangs, drawing back slightly, arching herself, daring to look Voldemort in the eyes,

_ "For the time being. When I am immortal I will have the time to fix it. For now, I will live with it...As you said, it is not wise to waste time..."_

_ "Then spend this time attempting to remedy it, not entertain the idea..." _She slid from his arm in a rage, her slinking body churning on the bed beside him like boiling entrails as she gathered herself, _ "are being ruined and you know it! You know this could mean death-" _

_ "Silence."_

_ "I will not be silenced! I know what is best!"_

_ "And I know what must be done. Enough!"_

_ "No!" _The snake reared up in the darkness, her venom dripping from her fangs on the lace of the Malfoy's marital bed, "_It hurts to argue like this! Stop it!" _They spoke Parseltongue incredibly swiftly,

"_If you hadn't interrupted, I would have been finished with Bellatrix by now..."_

_ "If I hadn't interrupted, we would have been weakened further..."_

_ "Don't speak of what you don't understand!"_

_ "And don't be controlled by what you don't understand! Don't be controlled by anything!"_

_ "Leave me!"_

_ "Hear me out!" _Nagini raged, "_Listen!"_

_ "Enough!" _And Voldemort drew his wand viciously and threw a wild curse at the serpent that made the air flash with silver light. Nagini was lifted from the mattress, spitting furiously, and was shrouded in a swirling, stinging mist. Wind swept the bedroom, buffeting the lace canopy, rattling the crystal lamps, making Voldemort's robes buffet like frenzied shadows behind him.

And then, all was still and dark, and the serpent had been transported somewhere far from the Manor for the night.

In the calmness, Voldemort lowered his wand and raised his free hand. He fanned out his fingers, bringing flames to the white candles in the room. He then moved across the room and collapsed in one of two pristine, cushioned armchairs, his stomach churning wildly.

Immediately, he focused.

Greyback would be working with Spade at the bridge in the morning. Bellatrix would be training Draco in the afternoon. Ollivander would be done with his second wand...

Voldemort leaned back, his red eyes staring up at the slightly shifting chandelier high above. The boy was sleeping now, at Hogwarts. Dumbledore would be awake. He would be working, studying, planning...

Standing, the Dark Lord was determined to work. He went to the middle of the room, grounding himself, holding his wand loosely. If there was nothing else to do, he had to improve himself.

Closing his eyes, Voldemort cast a spell at his own feet. He had been practicing for a month, now.

There was a humming of magic as the wizard's heels rose up off the floor, next came his toes. For a minute, he levitated himself just centimeters above the carpet. Hovering there, he withdrew the spell and took a breath.

Although the charm had deceased, he still remained suspended.

Dropping his wand, his closed his eyes peaceful, and Voldemort began to rise ever so slowly into the air. Soon, he was a meter from the floor as if held up by the soft candlelight. He dared not open his eyes. This was higher than he'd ever managed without using his wand.

How incredible it would be to fly, one day.

The lamps on the wall cast their golden light upon his frozen, focused form. The room held its breath. His dark robes hung like dripping shadows on his arms. A faint wind churned around his ankles. Voldemort breathed deeply.

And all was still except for the tick tocking of the beautiful, silver grandfather clock in the corner.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.  
Tock.

Voldemort dropped from the air and fell with a great gasp. He caught himself, but staggered.

Tick.

With a swipe of his arm, the ancient, glorious clock gave one last tock before the gorgeous gears enclosed within it began to scream. Black dust bled out of its face and it trembled for an instant and then fell to ashes.

The Dark Lord stared at the rubble for a few moments.

Then, he clenched his teeth together and brushed his right palm over his left forearm. He felt the spell rumble through him and instantly regretted it. There was no undoing it.

He waited.

He turned and eyed the room, ignoring the pain in his stomach. It was, as Bellatrix had promised two weeks ago; the best in the manor. There was precariously old, delicate lace on all of the spotless furniture and the ancient bed's canopy loomed high, but not nearly close as the arching, marble ceiling. The wizard reread the glinting plaques above the jeweled headboard. There were dozens, all beautifully decorated with silver. Finally, he came to,

'Scorpius and Fortuna Malfoy: 1921'

'Abraxus and Clodia Malfoy: 1952'

'Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy: 1975'

And by then, there were footsteps thundering gracelessly from the hall. After that, came the meek rapping at the door. He paused, giving another glance at the demolished clock. The knocking came again. He allowed the doors to the study to open.

There she stood, sleepless.

"Enter."

Bellatrix obeyed and passed through the dark study, moving as a shadow, a wild silhouette, for a moment. She stopped humbly at the threshold to the bedchamber and the candlelight fell on her again. He inhaled and smelled her unease at being summoned to his private chambers. The scent of the anxiety was sugary on his tongue.

Voldemort shut the exit to the corridor with a swift spell. And Bella's dark, alert gaze met his quickly before she bent on one knee, in a low bow to greet him,

"Master..."

"Imperio."

When she lifted her face again, her eyes were flooding with a pearly film. Her thin lips were opened, dazed. Her arms fell limp. She sat back on her heels, muted and deafened and numbed and blinded by him.

Voldemort gazed upon her.

She was old. She was unkempt. She was this horrible, ruined beauty. He had come to know the new lines on her face, the chalky taste of her crooked teeth, the brittle feel of her hair. Of all women, this one...

He went closer to her with a dark curiosity.

Why not her sister? Fair, fragile, unblemished.

Perhaps...

For the first time, he truly stopped to consider, though he wasn't sure quite what. Even now, looking at Bellatrix made him ill. It was not repulsion. It was not hatred. It was not frustration. But something in the core of him writhed when he looked upon her and only her, though he could not define it. And only since she had returned to him. Before, in her youth, he had understood her aesthetic worth, but never found himself appreciating it, admiring it. Beauty was power. Beauty made others weak. But now, Bellatrix was no beauty. She was destroyed and he wanted her.

He exhaled, aggravated, stepping away from the witch, glaring desperately at her.

Perhaps he had, in fact, been cursed

Voldemort looked away harshly,

"Come near." He ordered quietly.

Bellatrix obeyed blankly and stood before him, expressionless and quiet.

For the time being, he refused to look to her again.

From the deepest regions of his thoughts, Voldemort steered her chapped lips to his neck. It was as if she were poisoning him. When she touched him, his blood felt like lead, his insides seared.

Now, after having called her back, after having the will to send her off without a second thought, Voldemort felt devastatingly sick with himself. He wanted to think that in destroying the grandfather clock, he had stopped time altogether and, maybe, he wouldn't waste any with her. But he could never lose himself in such a fantasy. And so, every rush of pleasure that he felt fly through him when he ordered her to grip his legs, was tainted with biting, cold guilt, sometimes even fear.

What would be the consequences?

He was so constricted by his thoughts that he had forgotten to embrace her at all. The Dark Lord simply stood, paralyzed by his own tempestuous mind. All the while, the cursed witch lavished all the affections on his still form that Voldemort's subconscious could command her to.

But, he drew back after a time and he ordered Bellatrix to stop. She did, of course, immediately.

Both of them stared blankly at nothing.

Voldemort took her face in his white hands and looked to Bellatrix's colorless eyes. He searched her bewitched, unblinking gaze. A pained part of him begged the blackness of her pupils, the burning, electrified light of her irises, the tears of joy that he knew would have been there if...

He suddenly found himself putting out every candle but one with a slashing sweep of his white hand. Again, the stretching room was consumed by hushed shadows. Bellatrix's blank face was a ghost in the air for a moment before it disappeared entirely in the dark.

Voldemort listened for a moment. Without the noise of the clock, he could hear her slow breaths.

"Finite Incantantum." The Dark Lord withdrew his curse.

Bellatrix gasped. Then, she tripped, trying to find her footing in the dark. There was a thud when her body hit the floor. Disoriented, she called to the blackness of the bedroom,  
"What?" He heard her crawl away carefully, where the dim glow of the candle could not touch her, maybe fumbling for her wand, "My Lord?" She panicked, "Master?"

Before she could cast an illuminating spell, Voldemort disarmed her silently from across the space. He heard her cry out as her wand clattered across the floor,

"Master!"

He bit down hard as he drew his wand and threw the curse at her. It was fast, bludgeoning. Bellatrix screamed. He heard her body slam against the corner of the bed. Then she began to cough among her wailings, terrified as she should be.

"What-what..." She whimpered from the shadows before another spell threw her against the wall, "My Lord!"

He could imagine her confusion, not knowing up from down in the dark, through the pain. Voldemort didn't care why it felt right to harm her.

"Please!" She cried.

He stayed his wand,

"Mercy?" He offered darkly,

"Please..."

"Never." He could hurt her. He would prove it. Another spell. Another scream.

In the quick flash of light, he saw her huddled near the armchair.

"Master! What have I done?" Then her words transformed into wails as he tortured her relentlessly, coldly. The flashes of scarlet flickered wildly, illuminating her twitching form.

Voldemort finished and shadows consumed the weeping witch. He turned his wand in his fingers and breathed, his chest quaking, his jaw set. He listened as her quiet, rasping pleas resonated in the dark,

"My-my Lord..."

He lowered his tense shoulders, aimed his wand, and allowed his heart to beat as it wanted to,

"Imperio."

The spell was a soft, airy stream of blue that blazed directly across the room and it pierced through the blackness. He saw her startle and then, as her eyes filled with pearly glaze, Bellatrix relaxed on the floor, breathing deeply while the curse was swallowed by her forehead.

This time, Voldemort moved to her. He knelt beside Bellatrix on the floor, feeling the ashes of the destroyed clock under one of his hands. In the darkness and the quiet, Voldemort trailed his fingers over her limp, numbed frame.

"Kiss me." And sat up, drawing near to him, "Slow." He ordered with a quiet severity. Voldemort felt moist hands at the back of his neck and then warm lips on his collar. She folded into him. Her body was still boiling from the curse. He could feel the heat through her dress as he gripped her tightly.

Voldemort drove his hands through Bellatrix's hair and forced her numb mouth to his. He pressed his eyes closed. Bellatrix's clouded eyes never shut.

The Dark Lord tasted scalding hot blood through her teeth.


	22. Master Malfoy

The compact mirror shuddered slightly in Narcissa Malfoy's gloved hand. She was applying a third coat of ruby lipstick. Already, the powder on her forehead and nose was bubbling with glistening pinpricks of sweat. She snapped the mirror closed.

"Ready?" She asked.

Draco was standing in the hearth of the spacious, marble fireplace. He had to ducked in the slightest now that he was as tall as his father. The boy was framed by the white stones and shadowy darkness and ash. His hair was combed, his robes were pressed and perfect, but his eyes screamed of his sleeplessness.

"Yes." He answered, reaching into the crystal bowl filled with glittering floo powder.

"Bitxilore's."

"I know."

"I know." Narcissa said, pressing a few of her fingers together, "I'll be right after you." Without another word to her, her son threw down the fist full of powder and said clearly,

"Bitxilore's!"

Immediately, the powder exploded at his feet, swallowing his polished shoes first. There was a sudden rumbling in the fireplace and then Narcissa blinked and bit her red lip when the emerald flames rose fully from the hearth and swept her son away. He was swallowed by the fire. She saw his pale face there for a moment and then a speeding stream of smoke hissed out of the bricks. When the fog had cleared and the flames had withered to green embers, the fireplace was left empty. Nothing but a flock of swirling, feathery ashes remained. The witch felt a chill begin to slither through her.

She removed one of her white gloves and reached for the crystal bowl herself,

"Where are you off to." Came a weary voice. Narcissa turned to see Bellatrix standing on the stairs in the ashen morning light, wearing her pale, trailing nightrobes.

"Diagon Alley. I told you..." She explained, but her sister was moving to her, "Do you want me to fetch you anything."

"You never told me..."

"I did. Last night."

"No..."

"I did, Bella. Just before you were summoned."

"What? No. I don't recall." Bellatrix persisted, but Narcissa had already made her way into the ashes of the fireplace.

"It doesn't matter. Get some sleep." And the witch tossed down the Floo Powder, "Bitxilore's!" And she was swept from the parlor. The last she saw of her sister's confused face was through that haze of fiery green.

Draco felt his feet find solid ground again. When the howling of the flames had quieted, he could hear light music playing and muffled voices. The boy stepped from the smog and into the jewelry shop, blinking a bit of ash out of his eye.

He was used to witches staring, but today their usually coquettish eyes felt like pins being pushed into him. From beneath done up lashes, the ladies in the shop looked to the heir of the Malfoy Estate, glancing through glass cases, peering over gems. Or were they looking at all? Did they know? Of course they knew. Everyone had read the papers...

"Sir," Came a voice. It was a sales wizard, dressed in a set of robes tailored almost as well as the ones Draco wore, "Oh," the man recognized him immediately and nodded respectfully, "Master Malfoy. Anything I can do for you?"

And suddenly Draco could hear his own blood pumping in his head. He had been in this shop countless times before and was, previously, always addressed as 'Young Master Malfoy'.

He gave up hope of disillusioning himself to think that the entire community might not realize that he was not the man of his household. He replied as his father would have,

"No. Not at the present." For the first time in years, he worried that his voice did not sound deep enough,

And just then, sparks began to crackle in the pristine marble fireplace and Draco found himself wishing that he had come alone, just to walk the streets without his mother today.

But she appeared there. And when the fire fell away from her, she proved as glamorous as ever. Reaching out a gloved hand, she let her son help her from the hearth. Somehow, even after the wild trip through the Floo Network, Narcissa Malfoy's hair and hat had remained perfectly pinned. She had her head high for the first time in weeks and she glanced about with an air that told everyone that she was well aware that the dress she sported cost more than handfuls of the jewels in the shop.

If the other women had not been staring before, they were staring now. As the cold pair moved across the tile silently, they didn't spare a glance at the fine merchandise glittering on display.

The polished doors swung open and Draco, his mother on his arm, walked out into the murky August air. Diagon Alley was unlike he had ever seen it before. It was, somehow, colorless, and not even because of the clouds that dominated the entire sky. It was quiet, too. People walked with their hoods drawn up, past shuttered windows. Children were hurried along by their hushed parents. Fear was everywhere, laced through the humidity, lucking in shadowy spaces between boards nailed up at storefronts.

When the Malfoys descended the few steps from the shop, three wizards stopped their conversation entirely. Then, they exchanged a swift glance and started off as fast as they could down the cobblestone street. Draco noticed, of course, as he assumed his mother did.

Now, more than ever, he was aware of that ink black brand shining on his wrist. He put his hand in his pocket, clutching the folded piece of parchment that Snape had given him.

"Shall we split up to have things go faster?" He suggested, feeling the parchment crinkle in his grip, "I'll go for robes, you fetch the books..."

"No." She said simply, keeping her nose turned up as they walked, "Why not keep together?"

"Why not be finished faster?" He knew why. She'd want to stay out as long as she could. He knew she couldn't stand to be in that house; neither could he. It was terrifying, in some way, to be away from the Manor, but at least he was out. He was off of that property. They were away from that snake and Bellatrix.

And there she was. Narcissa looked away. There were wanted notices plastered all over the front of the Leaky Cauldron. There were dozens and dozens of Bellatrixes staring in black and white, all turning slightly at the same time in defiance.

'WANTED: BELLATRIX LESTRANGE...'

Narcissa could turn her in. She knew exactly where she was. Bellatrix Lestrange was sitting on a leather sofa in the parlor, either there or she was pacing by the poolside or staring at the ceiling in the guest bedroom. She was

Narcissa moved quicker, adjusting her purse on one arm and holding tighter to her son with the other.

"Madame Malkin's first."

"All right." He agreed.

They passed Ollivander's wand shop.

"Draco." Narcissa said quietly after they moved easily through a crowd of wizards waiting outside of the Apothecary,

"Hm? Yes?" her son replied, almost too casually, almost like her husband would have.

"I..."

"Hm?"

"I cannot wait for the Dark Lord to gain power." She breathed suddenly, "Everything will be better. At least this will be. At least I will be able to walk down the street without...you know. I can't feel like a criminal anymore."

"Mhm."

They passed the entry to Knockturn Alley.

Draco was deep in his own thoughts as they approached the shop. He remembered, years ago, when he had been fit for his first uniform. He had gone alone because his parents were off shopping. Now, at seventeen he had his mother on his arm. It used to be different. Perhaps it changed when he saw her cry. He had realized she was a human instead of just a mother. However, now, something had shifted. Now that they were out in public again, he loathed the idea of being seen as her caretaker or, worse, seen as being taken care of by her. Being in the house, she could suffocate him. Yes, he needed her, appreciated her, but he could do that privately. Out in the open, with people staring and calculating and whispering, he could not afford to been seen as anything but independent. In a few months, he'd be known for the assassination of Albus Dumbledore.

He released Narcissa from his arm and put both hands in his pockets, not caring what she'd say or think, if she'd say or think anything at all. And there was that piece of parchment again under his sweating fingers.

Draco did not hold the door for her when they entered Madame Malkin's shop.

.

Narcissa stirred more sugar into her tea and pressed her faded lips together. The edge of her teacup had been gored with her scarlet lipstick already.

The café was quiet at this time of day. There were violet curtains hung all about, the chairs were iron with sleek-looking cushions upon them, and the crystal lamps on the walls were filled with tiny, miserable looking fairies. It was a spacious place, with ornate mirrors on all the walls, making it seem even larger. Narcissa watched her own reflection breathing slowly, then looked to her son in the mirror before actually looking at him and saying,

"We should return home after this." She noticed him flinch a little, just a little and assumed that he didn't want to go back either, "Unless there is anything else you need."

"No." Her son lied,

"All right." And she drank her tea a little slower. They both glanced at a couple who entered the café, eyed the Malfoys sitting there, and then left immediately, "I hate this." Narcissa confessed under her breath, forcing herself to sort of smile,

"They'll see soon enough."

"You..." She paused. She didn't have the heart to tell him how cold his eyes looked,

"Hm?" And there it was again. He looked so like his father had.

Narcissa had to tear her gaze away.

It was Lucius' seventh year when he had been initiated. He had looked at her with a frigidity that seeped into the marrow of her young bones. He had looked at her and told her things were going to change for the better. He had looked at her and told her he would die if he had to.

She wished Draco would call her back to the present with a concerned 'Mum?'. But he was quiet, staring over her shoulder at nothing. The witch looked into the mirror behind him, into her own eyes. Her makeup had faded, of course. Then, her eyes wandered and she noticed something,

"What's that you're turning in your hands, dear?" She asked quietly,

"Shopping list for Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Really? Let me see. Did we get everything that..."

"Why? We got everything." He bit,

"Darling." His mother sat back a bit, "There's no need for that tone."

"And there's no need for you to be breathing down my neck."

"Darling..."

"And even calling me that."

"I'm your mother."

"Not my keeper."

"Draco." It was the first word in the spat that was above a whisper. His expression looked as if she had spilled her hot tea all over his face, "Draco..."

"Mother?" He asked

"What, Draco..." For some reason she felt the heat of tears behind her eyes. But she took a breath and controlled herself,

"Mother, I need to go to Knockturn Alley." He said,

"Where? Let's. What do you need?"

"I need to go."

"We can."

"I mean, alone, Mother." Draco stated as calmly as possible. He watched her look down at her tealeaves. After a moment, the witch lifted her head, looked at him through the delicate veil of her hat and said,

"Absolutely not."

"Mother..."

"For what? Where?"

"I need to go."

"And you can't tell me," she said bitterly, "Can you?"

"That's right."

"Draco, I am willing to make every effort I can to help you..."

"So let me go."

"Let me help."

"You can't."

"Well you may not go. Especially not alone- no. No, you may not go at all."

"Well, I don't need your permission. I never asked your permission." Draco said, gathering his cloak to stand,

"What has gotten into you?" She said, suddenly strict, suddenly old looking, "You are being dreadful. This whole day you've been dreadful, young man."

"I'm seventeen, don't..."

"You are young."  
"I am going."

"Draco, you aren't."

"Do you want me to get this job done or not." He said, at his full height, looking down upon her and her tea and purse and gloves sprawled out before her on the little table, "I have to."

And she saw the fear in his face again,

"Let's go." She said, finally,

"I won't go home until this is..."

"I know. Let's go to Knockturn Alley, I mean." And now she readied herself to stand,

"You can't."

"I must. Wherever you're going. I can at least walk with you there..."

"I need to go alone."

"Let's not separate."

"Mother..."

"Son."

"Mother."

"I refuse."

"I need to go there."

"Where, specifically, can you at least tell me."

"You'll follow."

"Of course." She said, standing and drawing near to him, suddenly choked, "Anywhere. I'd follow you anywhere to ensure..."

"Mother, stop. I can do this, I don't need your help, I really, truly do not." And he moved from her, towards the door. She hurried after him,

"You don't know that. You can't say that..."

"I just said it. And I mean it, mother."

"Don't speak to me like that, not here. Not in front of..."

"It isn't your place. This is my business."

"Don't you speak to me like that. Not ever."

"Would you like the check, Ma'am?" Came the quiet voice of the waitress.

The Malfoys turned to see the petite, curly haired witch holding out a small, leather booklet to them. Narcissa tilted her head and smiled at her. Draco stared out the window,

"Here." Narcissa gave her two galleons, "We don't need change, thanks."

And with that, Mrs. Malfoy strode out the door and into the street. She drove her heels into the cement as she stomped gracefully down the steps. Her blood was hot in her hands and she glared at her son when he exited the café after her,

"I will go with you."

"No you will not."

"What has gotten into you, you're acting just like your father at his worst. You know that?"

"No," Draco dared quietly, "Father at his worst is Father failing."

She had never wanted to slap him so hard or embrace him so tightl. She didn't know which and that made her heart contort. He took advantage of her pause and swept past her,

"Wait here, Mum." She did not obey, "Just wait here. Or go back to Bitxilore's and wait there." When he looked again, she was still at his heels. So, Draco lied, "I'm going to Dezinida's." His fingers were already reaching or his wand.

"Draco Abraxus Malfoy. I care about you far too much to let..."

"Confundo."

While he ran into the grey alleyway, his blood was pumping so swiftly and loudly through him that he barely had time to accept that he had cursed her. When he was sure the shadows had him, he aimed his wand back in his mother's direction and said,

"Finite Incantantum."

He knew she'd run straight to Dezinida's. It was easily three blocks away from Borgin and Burke's. He had about ten minutes.

He shrank into the darkness when he heard her gasp in shock. Then, he saw her fly off down the street in the direction he had predicted. And then, he stepped back into the street himself and walked so fast that his legs ached immediately. He put his hand in his pocket and clutched the piece of parchment again.

.

Mister Borgin had not cleaned the windows of his shop, it seemed. The glass on the door was overcome with some dark dust. The window display was obscured by a strange grey film. Draco was not taken aback at the hideousness of the place. Looking rather fearless, the young man opened the door with a wave of his wand.

His heart was battering his insides. It felt like it was some distressed little bird thrashing against his ribs, screaming and crowing.

The dimness of the shop was jarring, but when his eyes adjusted to the filthy gloom, he saw Mister Borgin there. The man was worse than he remembered him, with a hunched back, horrific hands with filthy fingernails. But he shot a glance at him and then moved down one of the aisles, not answering when the man said,

"Ah, Young Master Malfoy..."

Draco pulled out the crumpled piece of parchment and read it again, even though he had memorized what it said,

'Vanishing Cabinet at Borgin and Burke's'

There was a diagram below it, a detailed drawing.

It was a drawing of an enormous thing in the corner of the shop, covered in dust and wrapped all in enchanted chains that slithered around it dangerously. Puffing out his chest, Draco returned to the slanting front counter. For some reason his arms felt as though they wouldn't move properly,

He showed Borgin the drawing.

He asked about it's twin, just as Snape had said.

He demanded it be repaired.

He threatened him with Greyback, even though he knew there was no possibility of getting the werewolf to do his bidding.

When the shopkeeper protested, Draco knew what he had to do. Draco took his own sleeve and yanked it up his arm, exposing his left wrist.

When Borgin gasped and stepped back, lifting his hands and flinching away into the shadows, Draco felt something warm in him. This man was the first person outside of the manor to view his dark mark. Rolling up his sleeve had been easier than he thought it would be.

The fear flickering in the man's eyes soothed him and scared him deeper than he wanted to realize.


	23. Pursuit

Bellatrix watched glow of the bobbing lights that hung on the back of the last carriage disappear over the black ridge. With a final, far off whinny from one of the thestrals, the caravan of Hogwarts students had gone. She relaxed, at last, leaning against the cool metal bars of the high fence. Narcissa would be pleased when she saw the memories Bella would bring back for her.

The evening air was damp and the Hogwarts castle was shrouded in a hazy mist across the hills. It's illuminated spires pierced the blackness of the sky, its' windows gleamed brighter than the dozens of stars that dangled above it. After all the years she had spent away, the vision of Hogwarts at night, may have been the only thing that had remained exactly as it had before.

Potter would be there. He was inside, perhaps, walking down a corridor, towards the Great Hall. He should have never even set foot in the school. He should have never known the age of eleven. That boy should have been finished years ago. Bellatrix should have been comfortably enjoying the Dark Lord's triumph for a decade now.

She turned her back to the glittering school and tried to recollect what Narcissa would want to see. Draco had gotten off the train after his friends; long after his friends. But the Parkinson girl had waited for him on the platform. They had joined hands, with their luggage levitating behind them, and they had taken off quickly. His carriage had its blinds drawn and it had clattered safely onto the grounds.

How terribly distracting it would be to be a mother.

Suddenly, a ways down the slope, where the steam from the Hogwarts Express was rising, flickered a brilliant patronus. It rose up from the train platform, it seemed. It shot courageously high into the foggy night air; a radiant wolf, with a tossing tail.

The Dark Lord had not deployed dementors to the train platform.

It must have been a signal of some sort.

And Bellatrix was off, sprinting into the brush, into the shadows. She left the silhouette of the school behind her and flew down the hill, tripping twice, with her wand tight in her sweaty grasp. The residual glowing from the patronus led her for a short minute, turning all the tree trunks and brambles black. And then the darkness swallowed the slope again.

Bellatrix stopped to allow her eyes time to adjust to the faint shine of the moon. She was still a ways from the platform, but she could hear the train rattle and hiss and scream as it left the station for London. Deciding to move towards the gravel path, she banked a sharp left and fumbled through the thickets.

She heard them before she saw them. In the stillness at the edge of the woods, the quiet conversation travelled far enough or Bellatrix to distinguish the last of it,

"Dawlish, that Auror...attacked last year..."

"...right..."

It was a male and a female, certainly.

Bellatrix, ignoring the throbbing in her ankle, moved silently towards a shadow moving up the muddy lane in the direction of the castle. She was panting already from her flight down the hill. She walked quickly and breathed deeply, careful to stay behind larger trees. At last, the witch saw clearly.

It was a lone traveler, to her surprise; An auror in full uniform. The witch's navy cloak dragged behind her, her badges glinted dully. Her face was terribly ordinary and pale. Her hair hung simply. She walked with a sense of gravity as aurors always did. But, Bellatrix was sure she had heard another voice. Or had the woman simply been talking to herself? Why else would she speak at all?

The Death Eater trailed the Auror from afar, desperate not to tread on any twigs or unstable stones. Here the ground was soft, thankfully.

And Bellatrix studied the woman. She was young and had a defeated walk, but her strides were quick. Whoever she was, she was not doing a very good job of keeping alert. She looked only to her right, too often. She rarely scanned the trees and so, the Death Eater dared to get closer. With one curse, Bellatrix could kill her. And why shouldn't she?

Bella raised her wand, but stopped suddenly. The auror was being followed by two sets of footprints, her own, and someone else's. The mud displayed a trail left by no one, it seemed. The soil simply caved in on its own in the shape of the bottom of a pair of trainers.

When auror had reached the towering gates to the school grounds, Bellatrix stepped quickly behind a tree and spied from there. The bark was cool under her hot hands and little ants were gathered there. Bella didn't even notice them crawling over her fingers, she was so shocked at what occurred on the path.

Beside the auror, the air fell away to reveal a boy, Harry Potter.

He was as she recalled; short and thin. He wore casual robes and his glasses were crooked. His pale skin was made all the paler by the scarlet stain down his neck and his dark hair that looked too similar to the way that Tom Riddle's had...

He was holding a glittering cloak. She was barely recognizable with so much blood on his face. Something must have happened. She would have to owl Draco and see if he could find anything out.

Potter tried to unlock the gate, but failed.

Bellatrix felt her hand begin to shake. What would the Dark Lord have her do? She'd have to return and tell him she was this close. She doubted her Master had been this close to the boy for months. What if he punished her for inaction? But if she acted...

She brazenly, stupidly, rashly stepped from the shadows onto the path, her wand outstretched. Her heart jerked. She would terrify him at least, perhaps kill the auror. She was out in the open with the moonlight at her back, throwing her shadow before her.

But someone was unlocking the gates. It was Severus.

She froze.

He saw her.

He must have seen her. There was no way he wouldn't have. She was in the middle of the lane, in full view.

The iron gates opened with a tremendous groan.

Bellatrix shot back into the shadows as quietly as she could, her robes whipping, her ankle throbbing.

She didn't stop to see if the auror had turned. Bellatrix could only hold her breath and press her back against the trunk of another tree, feeling ants or sweat on her neck, through her long hair.

"...didn't have any..." she heard Potter say,

"...no need to wait, Nymphadora, Potter is quite...safe..." Snape interjected, addressing the auror,

And Bellatrix's jaw tensed.

Nymphadora.

It felt like an hour before the gates moaned shut, though she knew it must have been mere minutes. Bellatrix listened, slowly turning her wand in her tense, trembling fingers. There were footsteps nearing. It was the auror. She was alone. She was moving closer down the lane.

The Death Eater knew that name, though it was rarely mentioned. Had she not recently delved into her pensieve to recover the very last, most painful of her memories from fifteen years ago, perhaps she would not have recalled who Nymphadora was. Her arms were shaking now, her legs felt numb.

Bellatrix nearly collapsed with surprise when the other woman cursed to herself,

"Fuck you." The auror was upset for some reason, hissing as she passed by where the shadowy woman was hiding, "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you." And she continued on, "Damn it!" She kicked something, sending a few stones flying and then moved on.

Bella glared after Nymphadora's gloomy silhouette, studying the other woman's gate. She was young, fleet footed...

And the Death Eater was off, slipping silently around the trees, over the brambles, following the auror, keeping just far enough from the path so that she was not seen. She could hear her own blood pounding in her head now She would let her walk farther from the entrance to the grounds so that when she sounded the alarm it would be a few minutes before anyone, even Dumbledore, could reach her. And so she followed in the gloom of the trees as the younger woman trudged down the lane back towards the train platform.

Every leaf beneath the toe of Bellatrix's boot seemed like a resounding explosion of noise to her. But the other woman never turned, until Bellatrix called,

"Nymphadora Tonks." The words hung in the air.

The young woman whipped around, her wand shining with light. Bellatrix couldn't even get a momentary glimpse of her face.

"Yeah?" She had responded.

And then, the auror knew she was in danger. Bellatrix allowed the glow of the other witch's spell to fall upon her. She felt hot anger rising in her throat, making her hands shudder.

And the moment Nymphadora realized just who she was facing, she leapt at her aunt, charging through the trees.

"Lestrange!" Tonks was crying furiously, crashing through the brush, "Keep away from this school!" Bellatrix sprang away into the dark, her niece's spells slamming against trees behind her, sending branches and sparks flying.

She'd lead her the auror past the platform. She'd take her far from help.

But the Nymphadora was already sending red flares into the sky, calling for her comrades in Hogsmeade. The forest flickered ruby before the Death Eater. Her vision was shaking from running. Over her heart and her own hoarse breathing, there was nothing but a snapping of sticks and sizzling of spells. Bellatrix could just make out the gas lamps of the train platform through the trees,

"Get back to Azkaban!" the young woman's voice rang, far too close for the Death Eater's liking. The heat from one of Nymphadora's hexes grazed her shoulder.

Bella gasped for breath and then threw a spell at the ground. Suddenly, a stinging, black smog erupted at the pureblood's heels. It spread in moments, wrapping around trees, filling the air, erasing the muddy ground. She left her raging niece to be swallowed by the haze.

Nymphadora cried out in surprise, lost her footing in the shadowy fog and suddenly found herself tumbling in the dark. Something tore her side open. She wailed a spell from the ground and with a hissing sound, the hideous cloud disappeared and the air was clear again. The auror leapt to her feet, feeling blood drip through her sleeve and down her arm but not caring. She could hear her aunt's rattling laugh in the distance. She hadn't heard that terribly noise since the last time...

Since Sirius fell...

And Nymphadora saw the other witch, just a little ways below, dashing across the platorm, her tattered cloak fluttering out behind her like some terrible wings sprouting from her shoulders.

"Reducto!" The auror's brown hair flew out of her face and she shielded hersle with her arm when she blasted a hole through the brambles. When the dust cleared and the creaking of trees began, Nymphadora charged down the hill.

When she burst out of the cover of the trees and onto the black cobblestone, Bellatrix was waiting for her. She was standing at the far end of the space, under the archway, her toes on the edge of the platform. The feeble yellow light made her aunts hollow face all the more skeletal. She looked as though her death was long over due.

But just when Nymphadora raised her wand, the other witch dove down onto the train tracks and into the murky shadows there.

The auror yelped with anger, threw a flaming curse into the dark after Bellatrix, who was cackling something from somewhere, and sprinted along the abandoned platform. Anger thundering in her ears, she jumped the barrier and sprang onto the wooden tracks. She landed hard, feeling pangs in her knees, but was quick to follow her aunt into the darkness.

The moment she passed beneath the brick archway, she became aware of the blood flowing down her fingers. It would be leaving a barely visible trail of drops behind her. The pain in her arm and the intensity of her fear came to her attention at the same time in the shadows. She heard her boots pounding as she ran into the ravine, following the train tracks.

Bellatrix would be somewhere there, either ahead of her or in the monstrous trees one either side of her. The moon was little help here in the valley. Nymphadora felt her sweat turning cold. How stupid of her. She had intended on pursuing, not being pursued.

The witch stopped, panting and shaking with anger. Lifting a trembling arm, she cast a fiery flare into the sky, far above those terrible trees. The path before her was illuminated in ruby for a flickering instant. She saw there was a bend coming up. She saw the trees arching above the tracks. But Bellatrix was nowhere to be found.

Immediately, the auror regretted sending the signal. The Death Eater would have seen her exact location.

Bellatrix certainly had.

A rushing of wind came before the yellow jet of light.

Tonks felt her back slam onto the tracks and then realized that her legs had been roped up with a sizzling, blindingly bright cord. She thrashed in surprise for a moment and then, took a breath.

She could hear a thunderous snapping of branches. Bellatrix would be flying down the ridge...

"Finite Incantantum!" Tonks barked hoarsely, freeing herself. Her aunt's spell snapped away from her.

Then came the deafening explosion of emerald beside her.

Tonks tumbled out of the way of the Killing Curse, screaming.

Her ears were ringing.

She had to return to the light of the platform, this was no use in the darkness.

Another blind curse was thrown by her aunt and it missed by a few yards. The auror stood her ground this time and waited for Bellatrix, who was a shaking shadow in the moonlight, to drop onto the tracks.

Suddenly, in the darkness and dizziness, a blinding, hissing, wave of flames came rocketing towards her. Tonks leapt up, clawing at the side of the ravine, bloodying her knee. She quickly realized that her cloak had been caught by the blaze. She lost her grip and fell, rolling back onto the train tracks, tearing at her cloak.

Another blast of fire came, but this time, the auror deflected it, sending the blazing spell slamming into a pile of brush on the hill. The thicket burst into light, with twigs snapping and the hot air fanning the flames.

The two witches were illuminated by the fire.

And the duel began.

Bellatrix sent furious curses flying at her niece, splitting the train tracks open, tearing trees from the side of the ridge.

"You shameful wretch!"

Nymphadora ducked and dodged.

"Shit!"

There was a scream from Bella's own throat.

A pine tree tumbled down from somewhere.

"Filth!"

"Fuck you!"

The valley was green, then blue, then red, always orange.

The air was seizing with spells.

"You damned, filthy thing! Die!"

And then something hit Bellatrix in the back. It sent her legs over her head, it sent her spinning. The light of the fire swirled above her, below her, then she was in shadows again. She met the rocky side of the ravine and a yelp escaped her. Bellatrix could feel herself slipping down the slope. She clawed for her wand. There were men's voices a little ways off, somewhere in the wavering dark.

"Tonks!" Someone yelled,

"Oh my god, Dawlish, did you kill her?"

"Don't think so-"

"Do it now! Kill her, please!"

"Tonks, your arm – "

"Go..."

Bellatrix, gripping her wand, dug her heels into the ground and caught a glimpse of two men rushing towards her a little ways below. Nymphadora was bloodied and burned, but still very much alive.

And the Death Eater apparated away.

.

Narcissa hummed to fill the silence. Her voice was small in the marital suite and it shook with anger. She raised her wand and waved it.

The lace on the bed rearranged itself, the glass of water on the nightstand disappeared, the robes on the pillow folded themselves. And then, she turned to the desk, where countless papers were splayed, fanned out, somehow neat. As she approached, still humming, she found them all to be entirely blank.

Passing a stack of editions of The Daily Prophet, near the edge of the bed, she moved to the beautiful plaques that were climbing up the wall. The witch fell quiet.

She gently ran wand over the edge of the lowest hanging one, which she herself had received as a wedding gift, which she herself had mounted there years ago...

"'Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy: 1975"

The dust fell away from it.

Something twisted in her chest, but she forced it out, turning to have another look at the room. It felt so wrong to be standing in it. It looked so different now.

Her eyes fell upon a mess in the corner. She realized, when she neared it, that it was a pile of silver dust. There was a fair amount of ash in it and it reeked of a most fowl magical fire. Daring not to touch it, she prodded it with her wand and discovered the dainty, metal hand of a clock.

"Oh no..."

"What?" answered a soft voice.

Narcissa couldn't help but cry out in surprise. Instead of turning to look, she dropped to the floor, on her knees, and hid her face. Her breath stopped somewhere inside of her. She felt his shadow. All her fears rushed up in her, her heart began to shake. It was all very cold around her, now.

"Clean it up."

"Is t-this..." She choked through her terror,

"The clock? Yes."

"The..." Alone in a room with him...

"Yes, it is." The Dark Lord repeated.

Narcissa was ashamed at herself for sobbing, even once. She knew he was staring at her. What if the snake was with him?

With a deep, sharp breath, the witch nodded, willing herself to point her wand at the powdered heirloom before her. She asked, dryly,

"It is not repairable, sir?"

"You can try, if you'd like. I have no interest in it. But, you may take it. There is a chest, there, by the bookcase..."

Narcissa got up, still not looking to where he stood by the exit, and strode to the shelves. It felt as though hours went by before she returned to the other side of the room with the small, golden chest to collect the glittering dust. As she was doing so, Narcissa could hear him moving to her. Her blood turned to stone in her veins, her hands tensed,

"I really shouldn't even allow you to try."

"Whatever you wish, sir."

"In fact, you may not. Put it all in the chest and dispose of it in the lake, if you please."

"Yes, My Lord."

"Get the misery from your voice, Narcissa, it does not suit you." He paused, "Nor does this weeping of yours."

"Forgive me, My Lord..."

"I can do no such thing, Narcissa, that is, until your son has regained your house's honor. It is regrettable that you must suffer for the wrongs of your husband. You were such an admirable witch." She felt as though her voice had been stolen from her, as if someone had plucked it from her throat...

Though no spell was cast the witch felt something shatter inside of her, some horrible thing fell apart and began to bleed in her chest. She was no longer paralyzed, she was galvanized and found herself being pumped with loathing. Her wand trembled,

"Is that anger, I can taste in the air, girl?"

"My Lord..." she hated herself for begging, for letting him speak to her as though...

"Your husband brought my wrath upon you. If there is anyone to be enraged by, it is him. Do not project the hate that he deserves upon me."

"Forgive me." Her voice shrank further,

"Look to me."

"Sir..." He made her. She felt her neck crane backwards against her will. Her spine curved so she could bend. She stared at him upside down from the floor, still on her knees. He was just behind her, looming, his red eyes calm.

He gazed at her, twisted to his will, red eyed and pale lipped. She was a spotless creature with incredible selfishness in her. And when he looked into her pale, moist eyes, he saw so much loneliness, weakness. He saw empty, blue bedrooms, her own hand running over photographs, the shadow of her son on the wall, the stares in Diagon Alley, wanted posters, Draco in bed tossing from some nightmare, Bellatrix at the edge of her bed...

"Sir." Narcissa strained.

They stared.

"You're lonely, Narcissa."

"Yes." Her heart rattled,

"Very?"

"Yes."

"You will be for quite some time."

"I know..."

"What does that feel like?" His tone was unfeeling,

"I..." Her back was hurting, now,

"Answer." He demanded quietly,

"What?"

"This loneliness."

"I...it...empty, My Lord?" She would have expected to be crying by now, "Yes..."

"And?"

"Like you're hungry."

"That's all rather vague."

"I'm sorry."

"Specify."

"When you think you hear them, everything in you...um...screams."

"Really."

"And then, Sir, when they aren't there..."

There was a slamming of doors from below and then came Bellatrix's echoing shout loud and clear from the stairs,

"I almost killed her, Cissy!"

Voldemort released the witch. Narcissa slid onto her back, her wand rolling out of her hand as she caught her breath, staring at the ceiling

"But somebody else got me," Bella's distant crowing came again, "I just got a bit burned. Not bad! She had worse!"

And Voldemort swept out of the room.


	24. October 21, 1996

Dear Aunt Bellatrix,

I hope you are well. If this is a bad time, I sincerely apologize. I know you are extraordinarily busy, but if you could take a little time to assist me, I would really appreciate it.

I would ask that you don't tell my mother that I have written you. She has been getting short with me in her letters and her owls have been more frequent, as seeing that I have not responded to her since last month. I hope you can understand. I just don't have the energy to reply to her. My focus is elsewhere and I feel that entertaining her maternal needs was just becoming too much of a burden.

I am writing to you, Auntie, because you are the most gifted witch I have ever had the privilege to know. Besides being an incredible duelist, I also understand that you are a master of Occlumency. Quite frankly, I am desperate to improve my skills in this area. Professor Snape has been bothering me lately. I cannot have him know that I've imperiorized the woman at The Three Broomsticks. He's been calling me to his office for days. I've had to avoid him. I haven't gone to his class for about a week. I know he's going to try to read my mind again if he gets me alone. I'll have to face him soon and I want to be ready. If I might be so bold, I think you can relate to how terribly bitter I feel towards him. I don't trust him at all.

If you could, I would be honored to have you send me a few pointers or, if it wouldn't be too much to ask, to have you teach me for an hour or two. I could meet you somewhere for lessons. I'm still not that confident when I apparrate, so, if it would be possible to meet in the Forbidden Forrest, I would really appreciate that.

Sorry if this is overstepping my boundaries. Just let me know what might be possible. Thank you so much for taking the time to even read this. Have a wonderful day.

Sincerely,

Draco


	25. Lonely At The Hogshead

Besides the pained sighing of the November wind, the clattering of the sign against the brick was the only sound heard on the street. Hogsmeade stood still at such a cold hour of the evening. All the visitors were hidden away in the pubs and restaurants for late dinners or drinks and the storefronts stood dark. Night had settled early and the streetlamps burned a golden yellow that somehow looked sick against the grey air.

The Hogshead sat slanted, crammed between two boarded-up shops. The shingles on the roof lifted and shifted with the unfriendly breeze. Its' brick walls were dark and gnarled ivy squeezed out of the cracks like some greasy puss. The bay window was fogged with grime and covered by thick, dusty curtains. But this evening, a passerby would have noticed a pale hand, painted with the black lace of a delicate glove, drawing the drape aside in the slightest, letting a shaft the red light from within shine out onto the street.

When Severus Snape arrived at the pub, the low murmurs from the few, seated customers ceased entirely for a moment. The scarlet glow of the lanterns on the walls painted his pale face bloody. The wizard did not even remove his cloak, but simply shut the door behind him and strode towards the bar, minding the filthy goat that stumbled across his path.

The thin woman at the window watched him through the dainty veil that hung off of her hat and just barely obscured her fair face. She turned her purse in her gloved hand once and then set off across the room, her slight frame raked by the stares of a few men huddled in the corner.

Snape heard the heels of her pristine boots stop their sharp clacking. Before he could even get the sleepy bartender's attention, her hand was on his shoulder. The professor did not look at her.

"Not here."

"Hm?" He uttered coldly,

"In private." She insisted, her voice stony,

"As you'd have it." Snape murmured,

"Sir?" The witch called across the bar to the drowsy bartender, who grumbled something, "Sir, excuse me." He stood from his stool as swiftly as his old knees would allow. A goat brayed somewhere from below the shelves as the man hobbled over to meet the lady,

"Yes, love?" He croaked, licking his lips

"I'd like a room, please." She said tartly,

"For the night? Six galleons, my dearest."

"For an hour." She cleared her throat,

"One galleon." He was quick to take the coin from her and slip it into his breast pocket. Snape took in a breath and stared ahead, "Under whose name?"

"Ms. Duchossoir."

"Very well." He turned away, showing the balding patch at the back of his head, and rummaged through a cabinet. When he rotated back to the pair, he had a quill and a key in his greasy fingers, "Number Three." He told the witch before handing her the tiny iron key. She took it respectfully and then, without thanking the man, moved towards the stairs. The bartender was left to scribble down her name and gaze after the trailing cloak of Professor Snape.

"Duchossoir." Snape commented blandly, looming over the lady as she jammed the key into the lock. The upstairs corridor of the Hogshead was dark, cramped and dank and there was a horrible scratching noise coming from the room across the way.

"My mother-in-law's maiden name." She replied quietly and quickly,

"Why?" He pried coldly while she opened the door and swept over the threshold, the floorboards screaming, even under her slight weight.

"Severus, if that is rhetorical, you are crueler than I recall. If you are honestly wondering, then you are stupider than I could have conceived." The witch said, her light voice tense as she tossed the key on the bed, "Most of my pride has been stripped from me," Snape lit the single lantern that dangled above the bed with a wave of his wand . Then, he shut the door and looked to her blankly again, while she continued "I would like to keep the little dignity that I have managed to hold onto. I will not see my name in his records for renting a bedroom for one hour...Here of all places..."

"You were the one who chose this above other locations..."

"I was trying to make this as convenient as possible for you."

"How kind. Yes, most convenient for me, indeed, to take time out of my night to come and be assailed by you." He shot softly. The two of them faced each other in the tiny, low-ceilinged room with the bed a welcome barrier between them, "Now that you've made The Vow with me and locked me into your troubles, do you have the audacity to think that you may treat me however your foul moods would like?"

"Just stop." And her stony voice cracked and quieted, "Please. I'm sorry, Severus."

The lady and the professor stared at each other for a moment, until she removed her hat and set it by the key on the threadbare bed.

Narcissa Malfoy's face was made-up, as usual and the room around her did not suit her. Severus always thought she looked oddest when she was not accompanied by some grand setting. There she was, dressed in a shockingly elegant set of ebony dress robes with a trailing, black feathered cape, and those laced gloves standing in the swirling, stinking dust of this tiny hotel room, with the wallpaper peeling behind her.

"Narcissa, what do you want."

"You say that so...so...I don't know..."

"Well, you called upon me. What do you want."

"Again, that just sounds..."

"I don't care how it sounds." Severus said calmly in his low, bland tone, "It is what it is. We are here. You have asked me to be here. What do you want? We only have an hour, well, you may have more galleons, but I only have an hour..."

"Don't deal with me so strictly." She said softly and bitterly,

"What?" Severus scoffed quietly and then took a simple breath, "What would you like to know about Draco, then?"

"Anything."

"He has been missing my classes and all of his other classes for the past few weeks."

"He hasn't been writing..."

"I'm not surprised."

"Why? Why..."

"Last month there was an incident." He raised a hand swiftly so that she would not interrupt, "A girl somehow obtained a cursed necklace while she was here in the village. It was given to here. " Snape watched as Narcissa's grip on her handbag tightened, "She was bewitched, it seemed, and she was under the impression that she had to deliver the jewelry to Dumbledore."

"Oh..." she breathed solemnly, her shoulders falling in some deep devastation,

"Now, others may be aware that Dumbledore is a target of assassination, but still, no one knows that Draco is to be the assassin. However, I know. And you know. And both of us can assume that this situation a few weeks ago was a poor attempt at murder on your son's part. And both of us are very aware that he must be more careful."

"He's not speaking to you?"

"No."

"But..." She began,

"He's foolish." Snape noted, "You often forget that."

"I suppose."

"He knows I would berate him for such a clumsy effort. And he knows I would be justified."

"Call him in for detention..."

"Did you not think I have already done so?"

"And he hasn't shown?"

"No."

"Oh, Severus, we..."

"He should have been suspended by now."

"And his other teachers?"  
"He attends their detentions, I've heard."

"Tell him to write me. I want to help. I want to help him...He went away and now he's changed. This summer he let me help him, heal him..."

"This past summer you used him like a crutch."

"I..." She couldn't deny it, "Now it's his turn to use me."

"He has decided he does not need us, apparently."

"This is not a time for that. You tell him that."

"He will not listen."

"If only his father were here. He'd..."

"Who's to say that he would listen to Lucius, even?"

"I know he would. Lucius made sure that Draco always..."

"Then make him listen to you, now, Narcissa. You know just as well as Lucius does."

"But he won't respond to my owls..."

"A Howler, then, honestly." Snape drawled brutally, "But I doubt that will work either. If a boy has his mind set, he has his mind set. I don't know why we need to discuss that. I can supervise him and, in the end, do what must be done, however..."

"He's going to die." And she sat on the bed, her head in her hands, "My boy is going to die..."

"Narcissa..." She would not answer, "Narcissa." He did not move from his place by the door, but he watched her back shake in the slightest. If she was crying, she was silent, "Narcissa."

"I wish I could just see him and tell him..." She said into her palms,

"Narcissa, I promised you. I will protect him."

"How can you if he refuses you?"

"He is a boy. I have more control over his situation than he could ever imagine."

"Do you promise me?" She turned, her bright eyes tearless,

"I see no need to promise again."

"I do."

"I promise. Are you satisfied?"

"What can we do?"

"You, Narcissa, can do nothing."

"Don't say that." She pleaded,

"Nothing directly. You can stay in the favor of the Dark Lord, that is what you can do."

"Oh..." She moaned through her teeth, looking at the floor,

"It is an honor and a help to you to have him in your home. It's a miracle he even brought himself to grace your doorstep. If he were not there, he would not know how earnest you are in wanted to regain his favor..."

"You talk as though it is a privilege and not a punishment."

"His presence is not a punishment, the damnation he has imposed upon your son is the punishment he intends to bestow. Why would he want you and Lucius to fail? Lucius is a key component in his forces. Essentially, it is all about your husband"

"I know! I know. But as if my child were expendable..."

"He is, to the Dark Lord, at least. He is without much skill, he is young. There is nothing to lose if he dies, we have gone over this..."

"I still don't understand! I cannot believe I'm saying this, but from his perspective, how can it be efficient?"

"Don't attempt to understand, the Dark Lord works in..."

"If you want Albus Dumbledore dead, send my sister. Send somebody, anybody...Logic would say..."

"He wants Draco to attempt first."

"Oh!"

"It's for Lucius' wrongs, as I've said. Now, I don't want to repeat anything I've said before for the remainder of this conversation. Please, I don't know how many times I can tell you the same exact things." There was a pause. She sat miserably there on the bed, staring blankly at the stained throw rug. Then, her gaze found his again,

"Why won't he answer my owls?"

"What does it matter, why?"

"I just..."

"Narcissa, I can only guess."

"Then, guess, please. At this point you see him more than I do, know him better, even..."

"He might like to regain your family's honor on his own. He might be disillusioned to think that the Dark Lord believes he can accomplish this..."

"But, what if I..."

"He wants to feel as though he is doing this alone." Snape said bluntly. The word 'alone' seemed to hit her in the face like a spray of water. The witch blinked,

"Why on earth would anyone want that." She asked, a new, numbed pain flooding her voice and paralyzing the air in the room,

"He may see that as a way of growing up."

"No, that's just a way of growing cold." Narcissa stared into Severus' black eyes, "I'm his mother."

His gaze was relentless and she willed herself not to glance away this time. He folded his hands as if waiting for her and then he decided to break the silence,

"You'd like me to write you everyday, wouldn't you?"

"I would." She uttered,

"You've never lived alone, have you?"

"No." Narcissa still would not look away, "Now with my sister in and out, it's as if nobody..." Snape stood still, "Severus, I've never had an evening where I thought, 'In a week, I'll still be waking up to an empty home'. It was just business trips for him before. And then, at least I had a house elf to talk to. Something to talk to..."

"Did you just call me here to hear a voice? To see a face?"

"You..." She stared, "Maybe." And finally she looked to the floor again, scolding herself, "Look at me. What am I doing...Severus, I'm so sorry. This is so embarrassing."

"It really is." Snape uttered.

Narcissa folded, bringing a hand to her face. She wanted him out of the room. She wanted his hand on hers. And she hated herself. She should have called Wormtail if she was seeking comfort. He would have given her sympathy blindly for every wrong, twisted reason in the world,

"It is embarrassing." Severus went on, "You are a strong witch. To see you reduced to this..."

"What do I do?"

"Stop dressing as though you are a widow, for a start. I know you. Once you make the public believe something, you can believe it. Make them believe you are happy and you will be happy."

"You don't know a thing..."

"I know a few things." He said, raising his thin hand to silence her again, "And that trait of yours, Narcissa, is one of them. Stop your mourning. It is a temporary situation. The Dark Lord will bring him home again."

"And then he's likely to kill him!"

"Then prepare yourself for the worst and know how to function best on your own, really."

"I'm not strong without him."

"That's a lie. You are not allowing yourself to be strong without him and that's what's embarrassing."

"How anyone can expect someone to be strong alone is beyond me, Severus. It isn't possible. I don't care if it's my husband or my son, I need somebody because I am a human being. I am strong, but everything has been taken from me..."

"Your sister..."

"To hell with my sister!"

"Now, you don't mean..."

"To hell with her! She has everything she wants right now!"

"That's an assumption."

"She doesn't understand!" the witch was yelling by now,

"You have her to keep you company..."

"I don't want her! Not at all! Not right now...And it's not company I'm after. You say that so patronizingly."

"You're never satisfied, are you?"

"Not lately! No. And I won't be satisfied until...It's been..." She took a breath, "Nearly six months since he was taken away. Think of it. Soon, I'll be counting years! Years alone. You're telling me to be strong, endure. Well you have no idea what you are talking about. I've had someone my whole life-"

"Why am I here?" Snape said icily, "You're rambling."

"And now my own son- Damn it! I wish I didn't know what it was like to have anybody at all! I envy you, Severus! I really do!" She shrieked at the ceiling. Then, she clenched her hands together and turned away, sharply, "Maybe it wouldn't hurt as much if I never..." She stopped.

Narcissa heard the doorknob twist,

"Don't."

She heard the floorboards cry when he moved from the door,

"What." His voice came like a stake in her back,

"Please."

"Why."

"I...just..."

Her heart was beating quickly for some reason. She couldn't move. Something was battering against the walls of her chest in a horrible frenzy. And then, Severus spoke.

"I became as strong as I am only after I realized that people are temporary things. I am strong because I did know what it was like, I'll have you know, and I realized that that will never last. And, so, I focused on learning how to be content in my own company."

"Severus..."

"Don't say my name that way. I am not the one who came here for sympathy."

"I didn't come here for-"

"Why even attempt to try to fool me..."

"I..." She hiccupped angrily, "I'm trying to fool myself, then. I don't like being like this."

"So, stop."

"How?"

"I just told you."

"No..." she whimpered, "I can't think of being alone forever...Not now. I just can't."

"Prepare for the worst."  
"Is there no hope? Really? Honestly?"

"You came to me for hope? I am a practical man, Narcissa. You have seriously misjudged me."

"No, I mean...I need this. I needed this. You telling me this."

"Then accept it."

"It's hard."

"So?" He said through his yellow teeth,

"I'm sorry." She rummaged through her handbag and took out her wrinkled handkerchief, "I just need to get used to the idea." She wiped her eyes carefully and then said, "Severus, I would do anything to protect them. I just want my family safe and with me."

"And you will do everything in your power. You'll do your very best."

"Of course."

"Grief is hindering you."

"Yes."

"Don't grieve for things you have not lost. Once you lose something, then I can respect you and your misery. But this is entirely counterproductive. Your husband is alive, your son is alive. You are dead, Narcissa. You are the inactive and therefore, dead. How you can help your family is by using this time, now, to be at your best and support them in their trials. If all you can manage to do is be glamorous, then so be it. But I am sure you are capable of far more than that."

"Thank you." She was staring at the floor,

"Is that all?" He asked

"I..." she shook her head 'no' subtly, "Yes."

She was a wilted thing at the edge of the damp mattress, her white-blonde hair like some tattered wedding veil down her back and over her eyes. She was breathing easier now and when she sat up, at last, she turned to the dark professor and begged nobly,

"Please, sit with me."

"I have papers to grade."

Silence.

"Just sit, please."

"I'm sorry, Narcissa." He said slowly,

"Severus." Her bright eyes glowed in the bare lamplight, "Please."

He moved to Narcissa and sat down beside her, staring at the wall, focusing on the tilted, scraped up painting over the small dresser. It was a landscape painted in spring. It moved, only slightly, when the twilight breeze shook some of the violet flowers in the foreground.

Narcissa drew in a sharp breath beside him.

"I am doing everything I can to help you." He said dryly,

"I don't know why you're doing it." The lady's voice was smaller than it had ever been,

"Neither do I." He lied.

He knew exactly why he was aiding her son and it was not for her. Every deed was for Dumbledore. And every deed for Dumbledore was, of course, for Lily Potter. He remembered that when Narcissa's warm hand found his.

"Thank you."

He didn't turn to her,

"You're welcome."

"Lucius respected you." Her fingers shifted on his knuckles. Her glove was horribly soft, "Now I truly understand why. You can talk straight, think straight..."

"One does ones best."

And so they sat, breathing together, never meeting eyes, not speaking again until Narcissa whispered,

"I wish I hadn't come here."

"Well, you did." Snape said flatly,

"You shouldn't see me like this. Nobody should."

Severus looked to her hand on his.

The thin thread of a scar snaked up his fingers, to his wrist, and disappeared beyond the cuff of his shirt. Beyond her glove, he knew that she bore the exact same brand.

"You sound like me, now." Severus said before silence overtook the room again.

Narcissa held his hand just a little tighter.


	26. One Winter Evening

It was one o'clock in the morning.

"I'm nearly late, aren't I, then?" Said her voice.

Draco turned in the misty darkness with his wand outstretched. He was met with the shadow of his aunt before him, between two arching trees. She was hooded, a ghastly figure, extending her arms to him warmly,

"Come now." Bellatrix croaked happily, "Think I forgot? Did I frighten you?" She was already crossing the glade towards him, the fog swimming away from her swift, slanting steps,

"You surprised me." Draco admitted, his throat tight. Tonight was not the night to lie about anything. And he allowed himself to be taken into her stiff arms,

"Jittery thing." She commented, clucking as she almost cradled him. Her body was warm, at least. They shared a brief escape from the early winter chill. And when they parted, she took his cold face in her leather-gloved hand. "I've secured an entire square kilometer with shield charms. Just you and I are safe to enter."

The boy looked upon the woman. There was enough moonlight to sort of illuminate the glade, but now, in the pale light of his wand, he could see the details of her face. He hadn't seen her since September and could not decide if she appeared more or less grotesque than when he left her. Alone in the woods with her, she seemed less shocking. In his pleasant home, next to his pleasantly dressed mother, Bellatrix had seemed like some rotting shadow. But in the midnight glow of the Forbidden Forrest suited her somehow or at least balanced her. But then, any friendly face was welcome to Draco.

"Right. So, occlumency." She said, patting his cheek a bit roughly and stepping away from him. Draco clenched his teeth a bit tighter. She was dealing with him like a child and there was no way he could tell her off for it.

"Thank you," he spewed quickly, "Thank you. I really appreciate you taking the time..."

"Oh, I assumed so." She said simply and strictly, "You're welcome. Anything for family...deserving family."

"Of course. Thanks..."

"Have you ever had your mind invaded before?"

"Yes."

"By who?"  
"Just the Dark Lord, just once."

"Ah..." She let out a steaming, frigid breath,

"But I know Snape has...perhaps...I know he'll try again, at any rate." Draco resisted the urge to wrap his arms around himself in the cold.

"He will. He won't be polite enough to warn you with a spell either." She said, drawing her wand and pointing it between his eyes. Draco stepped back and she sort of smirked. It was a new wand. The one she had brought to the Manor had been crooked and horrible looking. This one was sleek, dark, and dangerously straight.

"Are you going to..."

"Of course." Bellatrix said, "We'll see how much you know already. Legillimens."

Draco's vision rippled immediately and memories began to swirl.

He was at the arm of his father's chair, tugging on Lucius' sleeve. Then, there was the dog. He saw moments of his first ride on a broom, he saw the handle shaking before him as the ground fell away, and there was his father's hand to guide him. Draco saw Pansy in the dress she had worn at the Yule ball two years ago. Then appeared Potter, his face bloodied.

And the darkness of his thoughts shattered further somehow.

He was sprinting away from his mother in Diagon Alley. He turned the corner towards Borgin and Burkes. The shop door swung open. He had his hand on the dusty door of the vanishing cabinet. And he was crying in his room, pressing the cloth to his raw Dark Mark. And then the wall fell away and he stepped into the Room of Requirement. He was at the fireplace in the common room, throwing his mother's letter into the flames.

"Not bad, for a while." Bellatrix said.

Draco's sight returned to him and the wind through the mangled trees seemed to sound louder now. He stood straight and found himself short of breath,

"Really?"

"Truly. It's a start, my love." She said, lowering her wand and biting at her chapped lip and studying him, "Now, the key," she moved nearer, "is to block the mind reader, but not infiltrate their thoughts. You must only let them go so far in your mind. You must control what you allow them to see. An expert Legillimens peels back layers of ideas in your mind as if they were thumbing through pages of a book. Some can get to the thoughts they'd like to see faster than others. Severus has had so much time to himself that he has become quite good indeed. However, he's no match for the Dark Lord or myself."

"All right." Draco nodded, putting his hands in his pockets and keeping his eyes on her,

"My advice is to keep a sort of repertoire of thoughts for yourself. Practice thinking of only them. Perhaps include some embarrassing memories, sacrifice your pride, so that your reader thinks that they are father into your mind than they truly are. You understand?"

"Yes, auntie."

"Good boy. Now, let us see, my darling..." He didn't appreciate her calling him that, "What are the things you will allow me to see?"

"What do you mean?"

"When I look into you this time, what will I see?"

"I..."

"Perhaps five sorts of things you'll let me see. Meaning, you'll be trying to block everything else from me."

"My childhood..."

"Too broad. Good information can be gained from that, too..."

"My first Quidditch match at school, the time I went to the hospital for that Hippogriff injury..."

"Good. What else? Just meaningless things..."

"Receiving my O.W.L. exam scores."

"And something a little more personal..."

"My father..."

"Yes?"

"No, the time when my grandmother died. Her funeral."

"Fine. Good. Legillimens."

He was not prepared for the spell. Immediately, when he was blinded by his own thoughts again, he recalled wrapping the cursed necklace in silk. He saw his hand trembling while he sealed the box with a spell. Then, he was in the Three Broomsticks, ordering a butterbeer, the pub was quiet, and Rosemuerta was there smiling. Then he was in the back room, with the kegs, casting the imperius curse on her. Her eyes were filling up with the lightest layer of film.

"Pathetic!" His aunt was scoffing, "Imagine if Snape saw that."

"I'm sorry. I was caught off guard..." She had never chided him,

"Don't be sorry. Be prepared. " She said simply, raising her eyebrows, "Do you think Snape will give you warning?"

"No. Forgive me, I'll..."

"Legillimens!" She threw the spell at him.

He focused, waited for the Forbidden Forrest to melt away and then he drew up recollections of the funeral. There she was, his grandmother, in her white coffin. The mausoleum door was wide open, leaves had crept inside. His mother was weeping into his father's chest. Draco held her hand.

"Yes." Bella seemed almost giddy, "Yes, dearheart! Well done! Keep five memories at the front of your mind like that. Think of them every night."

"I will."

"Again. Legillimens."

And Bellatrix drilled him for nearly an hour until his head was throbbing and panging and he absolute had to ask,

"May we take a moment, please?"

"I..." she shrugged, twirling her wand in her fingers, "Why not?"

"The headache got worse."

"Good, darling! You're working hard."

Draco sat on the frozen ground, letting the fog rise up around him. Bellatrix stood, looming, smiling,

"Burning mummy's letters, then?" her tone was chilling, satisfied,

The boy looked up at her,

"It's all right." His aunt assured him, "I understand."

"She just..."

"She doesn't realize how lucky you are."

"She should let me alone."

"Listen to me, boy." Bellatrix said, sitting beside him, "She's worried."

"She shouldn't be. I can do this. "

"And I know you can." She told him, her voice finding the strained whispering quality that he hated, "She still sees you as a little bitty baby. I...I see different. I went to Azkaban knowing you as an infant and I came out and reunited with you and you become a man. You'd think that I would have trouble thinking of you as anything different than a baby, but no. For some reason, I don't..." she rambled, "I do envy you, my darling dear. I really do." He didn't look to her, "I'd give anything to see him crumble from my own curse...You do realize how lucky you are, don't you?"

"I do." He didn't see it as luck. He saw it as punishment he had to overturn,

"But you can't know the full extent of it." Bella breathed, the frosty air coming out of her mouth like smoke, "I want your assignment more than anything. You'll be a hero, dear."

"I'll have you to thank." He tried,

"Oh, how sweet." She said with a crisp laugh, "How sweet. I'll be with you every step of the way. Promise. Cross my heart and hope to die."

"I really, really appreciate it."

"The Dark Lord will be so proud of you..."

They sat together in silence for a minute or two. Draco watched the shadows shift beyond the edge of the clearing. He wouldn't let himself try to listen for footfalls beyond the howling of the wind. His head still pounded. Then, her spindly hand was on his arm. He stiffened, but did not move away. And so they remained until he brought himself to ask quietly,

"Will I die?" Silence, "Auntie?"

And her black eyes found him,

"I couldn't see my sister lose you." Bellatrix uttered. He looked into her ruined face and found honesty dripping over it, "The only way you'll perish, Draco, is by the Dark Lord's hand. And that would be an honor. Snape will aid you in your mission. If you truly cannot complete the task, he will. I don't want him to steal that glory from you, darling. I can't have you steal that glory from you darling...But..." she collected herself, "I'll be there to protect you, too. I'll do a better job at it."

"I..."

"What?"

"I hate that mum went to him."

"Me too. It was not her place."

"I don't want his help because I don't want her help."

'I know. I know, dear." And she touched his hair, "But you're listening to him about that vanishing cabinet, like I said, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"That's the one good thing he's had to say about all of this. But he needs to take his hands off of the situation. I hate that he'll even be recognized for inspiring that plan. I hate it..."

"Me too."

"You're a good boy, you know."

"I..."

"Now, up with you. Again." She jumped to her feet. He was surprised at how nimble she was. And he was exceptionally glad when she did not offer her hand to help him up. The moment he stood, she had her wand at him again. His head was still spinning viciously

"Legillimens!"

He felt her delving into his mind, pulling ruthlessly at memories. He showed her details of the funeral, but suddenly those fell away. He was in the courtroom, his father looked ashen on the stand. Mother was silent, watching. The verdict was given. He felt her hand clutch his own, her knees were giving way. Somebody was shouting. Rodolphus was screaming something, his teeth bared. There was thunderous applause. With his mother clinging to him, Draco watched his stone-faced father dragged out into the corridor where...

Draco heard a muffled voice. Something felt as though it had snapped by his left ear. It was as if he had risen out of deep water too quickly. The Forbidden Forest came into view in a series of flashes before his vision returned entirely. He was stumbling.

"Draco, dear!" Bellatrix was saying from somewhere, over the ringing in his head, "I have to go. I'm so sorry. Are you all right?"

"Am I? I don't know! What happened?"

"I just retreated quickly. You're all right, boy. Just sit for a minute." Her voice was strained, her hands were touching him nervously, like the frightened wing-beats of a bird, "I have to go. You're all right to get back?"

"Yes...Yes...I..." He blinked hard, trying to regain his wits. What he did see clearly was her turning from him, clutching her left arm under her cloak, "Thank you!"

"I'll owl you, dear one."

"I..."

"Master is calling."

And she was gone.

And Draco was alone in the woods with the darkness roaring quietly around him. He put his hand to his temple, squinting his eyes shut for a moment. Taking a deep breath, his head throbbing numbly, he gazed about, clutching his illuminated wand. The trees all looked like the enormous pillars of some devastating coliseum. And there he was in the center of the ring. His heart began to beat as if some opponent was lurking in the shadows waiting to meet him. The boy stood there in the glade for a moment, listening to his own breath. Then, fear lunged up within him and Draco took off running back to the castle, the fog swallowing him whole.

.

The wind was cold in her throat as she swallowed it. Bellatrix sprinted on the cobblestone path, flying between the looming, well-groomed hedges. Her heels were unbearably loud, slamming against the pavement, and her wand was alight, its luminosity bounding along before her. Malfoy Manor, an illuminated vision, grew before her as she blinked hard as she tore through the peaceful dusting of snow that was falling.

When she reached the gate, she slowed her pace and came to a halt before the frozen, black, iron bars. She put her wand to the center of them and they hissed softly, swinging open, allowing her into the chilled, garden paradise. None of her sister's beloved flowers had survived the latest cold front. And now, at night, the Malfoy's gardens were an arrangement of inky shadows and moonlight. She began to hurry again, starting towards the manor,

"Where have you been?"

Bellatrix nearly stumbled.

Turning back, her legs shaking in surprise, Bellatrix saw her beloved Lord standing in the middle of the way. The gates were sighing shut behind him and then the two of them were left in stillness. Bella coughed,

"Master." Immediately, she genuflected, kneeling on the cobblestone, removing her hood and unleashing her wild mane of dark hair. She cleared her dry throat,

"Bella, answer me."

"The Forbidden Forrest, just outside Hogwarts, Master..." She lifted her head, but remained on the ground,

"Why?" His face was alabaster white in the dark indigo of the winter darkness.

"My Lord, I was paying a visit to Draco."

"Why."

"I was instructing him in Occlumency, sir." Silence, "He thought it would be useful to him."

"Of course it would be useful to him."

"Yes, Master, and..."

"So he could attempt to cloak his thoughts from me." He said quickly and terribly,

"No..." Bellatrix stuttered, taken aback, "No, My Lord, he wishes to conceal his thoughts from Severus Snape..."

"Why didn't you inform me of your intentions?"

"I didn't think-"

"No. You did not think. Clearly."

"My Lord..."

"Do you know how grave mistakes are made in this effort, Bellatrix?"

"D-do enlighten me, My Lord."

"They are made without my consent. Attacking your Auror niece and now this. Selfish decisions lately, my girl."

She felt crushed under his stare,

"I...should have..."

"Should have?" He egged poisonously,

"I should have gone to you." She said imploringly, "But I did not teach him much. Surely not enough to ever keep anything from you..."

Voldemort unfolded his arms. His wand was in his hand. She cringed,

"Do you dare mistake my anger for fear?" He suddenly barked, "It is not the boy attempting to hide his thoughts that has me vexed, you ignorant thing! It is the fact that you, of all my followers, might be becoming rash!" He brought his wand up and cracked it like a horrible whip. The curse met her shoulder and threw her to the ground. She cried out, "Don't falter."

"I won't." Bella promised to the wet cobblestone, "Master, I won't."

"Tell me, Bella, why has your work ethic changed?" His tone had altered. She could hear him move towards her. She looked up to see his boots near her face,

"Forgive me, My Lord, but I was unaware that it had. I'll correct myself, I promise."

"I know, I know, it's not purposeful, I know, I just find it curiousss..."

"I'll change, Master."

"I am just surprised we are having this conversation, you and I."

"I'm ashamed."

"Good. Now do something about it."

"I..." She willed herself not to cry, "I'm sorry, Master, this was just unexpected..."

"Indeed."

"Um..." The witch began to rise up on her knees again,

He lifted his wand again and she fell back in fright, bracing herself.

"Bella, compose yourself. I was merely..." He lit his wand with a flick of it and raised his eyebrows,

"Oh..." She uttered, catching her breath, calming her heart,

"You have done no great wrongs. I trust we understand one another now. Unless you feel you need to be beaten again?" He hissed icily,

"No. No. No. Please, Master. No." She gulped in a breath, "I swear..."

"Calm yourself, Bella. You know, that's one thing I could never stand about you. You never took criticism gracefully. Now, girl, don't descend into hysterics." He chided calmly, "I know that you are not lost, by any means. I am not terribly concerned. But you know, of course, I feel the need to exterminate all ill before it takes root, opposed to after."

Voldemort looked down upon her. Her hair was wet with snow and he could have reached out and touched it if he liked. He could have torn at it. He could have taken her hair and forced her close...

Bellatrix nodded.

"I have had a tiring day, Bella." All of it was just an excuse to see her.

"I am so sorry, Master." She said. He watched her black eyes find a glinting, raw sympathy.

"I will need you to keep the werewolves in check."

"Of course, Master."

"As I suspected," He admitted, stepping away from her, "Greyback is proving himself to be a handful." Voldemort moved towards the bushes, his cape trailing,

"That is a shame, sir."

"It was expected." He paused, not looking back, "Up with you, then. Walk with me. I said, 'up', Bella, come now, be quick."

She was swift to stand and sweep after him, following him under the iron archway that loomed, covered in limp vines. The wizard and witch passed into the shadows together,

"I am growing restless, My Lord." She began, trailing him, looking at his neck, begging for a glance,

"Apparently, as shown by your recent behavior."

She quieted and they strolled in silence, through the snow, which was falling harder now and coating the ground. They passed the withered rose bushes, wove through the groomed, shivering hedges. Voldemort held his wand out, casting pale light on their path,

"You may blame my righteous impatience..." Voldemort began, choosing his words, weariness finally finding his tongue, "You may blame my righteous impatience with you, Bella, on my sadness."

Bellatrix remained silent, her chest tightening. She wanted nothing more than to touch his shoulder or the hem of his trailing cloak that was growing wet with snow.

"It should not be this difficult to give anyone a better world." He said quietly, turning left, towards the lake. She saw his face, or part of it, framed by his hood. His lovely eyes were somewhere far off. And Bellatrix dared to attempt to walk beside him. He did not object, "I wish I did not have to cause unnecessary pain to those who don't absolutely need to have it administered to them. I am slowly realizing how much precious pureblood will have to be spilled by my hands..."

"I'm so sorry..."

"So am I. I..." He stopped. So did she. They had finally left the walls of the skeletal hedges behind them and found themselves again on cobblestone, by the largest marble fountain on the property, "It hurts so terribly to think of all the years I wasted. Fourteen years of work that I can never regain. Fourteen years of preventative measures. Fourteen years, Bella, that I could have been saving innocent minds and hearts that are now beyond rescue..."

"May I touch your hand, My Lord." Bellatrix dared,

"Bold. Why?"

"I cannot stand to see you hurting..."

"No, you may not. It would not serve any purpose. The damage is done. Touch would not aid me. Your diligence shall." He told himself,

"As you wish, Master." She nodded,

"Sit. There." He instructed, nodding to the edge of the silent fountain before he threw a spell over the ice resting in the lavish, tiled basin that made it glow a soft, white. His servant obeyed and took her place. He noticed her limping a little,

"You've hurt yourself."

"Running, yes."

"Bella..." He complained coldly, "You'll have Narcissa fix it in the morning."

"Of course." She replied, adjusting her cloak, shuddering a little when the cold wetness of the newly fallen snow bled through her robes. She had so hoped he would heal her himself. She loved the warmth of his magic,

Voldemort was standing there, shaking his head slowly. He looked at her once or twice, blankly. She was lit from behind, some faceless form. He had to bring his wand up to shed light on her shadowy visage. Her black eyes were begging for his gaze. She must love to be alone with him.

"Will they turn to me when he is gone?"

"Dumbledore?"

"Once his poison is gone, will some of them see?"

"They should, My Lord."

"They should, but shall they? I am terrified. I want to believe in the magical mind again. I want to hope that they are not all lost, that they will not all have to perish with the filth, Bella, but I am finding it so hard to hope."

"There are those who will see."

"But a drop of magical blood spilled due to ignorance..." The Dark Lord's fists balled, his white knuckles blazing whiter, "It torments my dreams these days."

"Can I do nothing else to soothe you?"

"Your faith is all I need, Bella."

"You have it." She confessed quickly,

"They will think I delight in my judgment."

"They don't know you."

"How can they? If they did, truly know me, they would realize..."

"Of course. Anyone would, Master." She told him in the darkness, "The world is so fortunate to have you."

"I cannot wait until Dumbledore falls. He has painted me to be a monster. I am only a monster to them because he has made me out to be one. He's killing them..."

"I hate hearing that, My Lord..."

"I hate knowing it, Bella."

"You are marvelous, Master. Benevolent and good...And that knowledge is in my blood."

"You are such a good girl."

"Master..."

"And I remember when you were just that. A girl, wide-eyed upon meeting your purpose..."

"Yes, My Lord."

"It was so easy for you. You have the same blood as everyone else." His voice began to tremble with frustration, "I just want to help them. I want to give those who deserve a perfect world a perfect world. Damn my absence. Damn that setback. Damn that boy." Voldemort drew in a deep breath, the snow around him on the cobblestone fluttered away from his feet when the air received a surge of his magic, "Damn that boy, Bella! Damn that boy."

"Master..." She said, noticing a small crack forming in the cement, creeping away from him. He turned to her, his face stony,

"Why." He seethed, "Why. Why. Why. I can ask myself a thousand times each day and it is never answered. That was not fate. That was not fair. That was not right. Prophecy be damned. If that was prophecy, destiny was cruel..."

"You have championed over death. Destiny can only do so much, My Lord..."

"And it has done quite enough, I'd say." He began to pace, the ground rumbling a little after every footfall. Then, without looking at her, he commanded sharply, "Come here, would you?"

"Of course, I..." she rose from her seat,

"Quickly. " He barked softly,

She sprang to him, her frozen feet taking her nearer as the ringing of his magic growing louder in her ears. And then, his cold arms were tight around her, sloppily.

"Master-" She gasped before his grip stole her breath,

"Tell me something."

"A-anything." Bella choked, her heart quaking, her arms confused, her legs weak, her head thundering, "My Lord..."

"Do you grow lonely without your husband or your companions?"  
"Master, you..."

"Do you?"

"I'd...no."

"Liar."

"Yes," She panted, confused and rapturous, "Yes, I'm sorry. I...My Lord, can-"

"Imperio."


	27. Tidings Of Comfort And Joy

Lucius' seat was empty at the head of the table, but his place had been set. The silverware was untouched, spotless. The food on the silver plate was glossed with honey and waited pristinely. Narcissa, as she folded her napkin again in her lap, could not stop staring at the lonely chair.

Bellatrix glanced there often, too. Her Lord had not descended from his room to dine with them yet.

The Malfoy dining room glowed. Crystal ornaments hung in the air, their core were alight with green and gold. Holly was drizzled over every mantle, every painting. At the four corners of the space, rising from the polished, white marble tile were luscious pine trees, gleaming with silver snow.

The end of the vast room opened beneath an arch, which led to the entrance hall, where the largest tree loomed. It was dressed in glorious, diamond baubles and had strings of emeralds snaking around it in spirals. From a distance the tiny, wingless, trembling fairies tied to the spiked branches could only be interpreted as pearly lights. At very the top of the tree resided an angel dressed in white with feathery wings that fluttered behind it.

Desert appeared on the table. Bellatrix jumped. Draco looked up. And Narcissa said,

"Draco, your favorite..."

He stared at the pastries before him, unmoving.

Bellatrix began to eat immediately, her fork scraping the porcelain plate. She was dressed in new robes, with a shining collar of grey fox fur. Her troublesome hair was pulled up for once, but somehow, a curl still managed to get caught in the corner of her mouth every so often while she leaned over her food,

"Draco." Narcissa urged with a stretched smile from across the table,

"Don't push." Bellatrix said simply, swallowing, "If the boy is full, he's full."

"I know..."

"Cissy."

Narcissa fell quiet, picking up her fork and delicately plunging it through the alabaster frosting of the tart, which bled warm jelly. She smiled at her sister and then turned,

"We'll open presents after this, my love." The blonde said quietly to her son.

"All right, Mother." Draco replied making Narcissa sit back in her seat. She took a moment, breathing in the scent of pine and pastries. If she closed her eyes, it was almost like any other Christmas except, their voices were small and echoed in the dining hall when they spoke. At any other year, the table would have been filled and the warm light of the candles would be shining on the powdered faces of family and acquaintances. But this evening, she could hear the crackling of the fireplace from the other room.

Would Lucius even know it was Christmas Eve? Narcissa folded her hands together and looked again to the empty chair at the head of the sprawling table. Would they treat him differently tonight? Would they feed him something different? Could he even remember what Christmas was after so many dementors kisses?

She stopped herself. She exhaled. She looked to her sister, who was scraping the side of her fork across the plate to collect the raspberry jelly that had dripped off of the tart.

"Bella, that dress suits you." She forced herself to say,

"Why, thank you, Cissy." Bellatrix showed her teeth happily,

Suddenly, a rushing of wind sounded from above. Bellatrix sat up and Draco's eyes finally found life. Narcissa did not move.

Swiftly drawing her wand, pulling the empty chair out for her Master, Bella stood. The rumbling stopped when The Dark Lord swept through the archway from the entry hall. He took a moment to look upon his servants. His scarlet eyes were alight,

"My Lord..." Narcissa did not know whether to wish him a happy Christmas or not, so she simply nodded in respect. He glanced at her and then at Bella, who had bended deeply,

"Master."

"Good evening, all of you." He said blankly, going to sit,

"Good evening, sir." Draco and Narcissa said together before Bellatrix sighed,

"It is an absolute honor to have you join us tonight."

"I know," Voldemort nodded calmly, looking at the food before him as if he were somehow, subtly confused, "I will not have the luxury to waste much time with all of you this evening. I have much to think on."

"Which is understood and which is why we are so humbled to have you..." the dark haired witch rambled, sitting when he waved her to,

"Bella."

"Yes, My Lord?" She straightened,

"That is enough, thank you." And Voldemort began to eat silently and swiftly,

"Wine or water, sir?" Narcissa asked coolly,

"Neither." He said softly,

"Anything?"

"Nothing."

She could get used to that answer.

Draco felt something shift inside his stomach. This was strange. His mother in her place and the Dark Lord at his father's.

"Music, sir?"

"Certainly." He said, to her great surprise. She was thankful for his consent. The stillness in the room was making her chest tighten.

Narcissa leaned back in her chair, aiming her wand far into the other room. She cast a spell on the harpsichord in the sitting room, near the enormous tree. It began to sing, softly. It had been enchanted, of course, to sound like a choir of heavenly voices.

And so they sat, watching Voldemort eat.

"Draco." The Dark Lord finally said easily, not looking at the boy, "If you aren't going to eat that, someone should take it to Mister Ollivander."

"I don't want it, My Lord." Draco said, gently nudging his desert towards his Master,

"Bella, why don't you go to him?"

"Yes, Master."

"Be kind. Collect the wands he should have finished by now."

"Yes, Master."

.

The wand maker heard footsteps. Even the softest click of heels roused him in an instant. He knew who wore those sorts of shoes by now. He had been sleeping on the floor and sprang to his chair, to hopefully appear as if he had been working.

When the door swung open, Ollivander braced himself, not looking at her. The gashes on his face had just healed, he didn't want more.

"Finished with those wands, He wanted?" Came her harsh voice. The man managed a glance at her, noting her formal attire,

"You look quite nice, Madame." He tried, keeping the pictures of his family in the corner of his eye as he flattered her, "

"Thank you. It's Christmas."

"It's Christmas?"

"Eve."

"Oh...Happy Holidays. And I've finished Peter Pettigrew's wand and-"

He jumped when she tossed the silver plate gracelessly on his desk. As he had cooperated, the dungeon had become more of a home. Though they had not granted him a bed, Voldemort had bestowed upon the old man a workshop such as the wand maker could have never dreamed of. Polished, iron desks and shelves, hundreds of slabs of wood hung in the air, all labeled, all lovely. Unicorn hairs, phoenix feathers, dragon heartstrings, a wildly exotic assortment of cores were all organized in little tins in a glorious, silver chest.

"Thank you, Madame." And he took the tart in his hands and began to eat quickly.

"You will be rewarded for your efforts after all of this, you know." She said coolly, coming to look over his shoulder at the three wands before him.

"Thank you, Madame." He said out of habit, wiping jelly from his beard and taking up one of the wands, holding it to his cheek, testing something, and then he began to polish it swiftly,

"Whose are these?"

"This, here, this is Peter Pettigrew's. That is for Antonin Dolohov, the darker one. And I that is for Rodolphus Lestrange."

"Is it?"

"Yes." He affirmed, "His younger brother's will be made next. Are they still in Azkaban?"

"You are not privy to that knowledge." And she struck his shoulder rather simply with her claws.

"Forgive me."

"Forgiven." Ollivander had diminished in size quite noticeably. It had been about six months now and his spirit had been broken. Escape was impossible but kindness was accessible,

"Rodolphus'." She said quietly, "Let me have a look at Rodolphus'."

"Of course." The wand maker handed over his work as if it were a delicate, infant bird.

Bellatrix took up her husband's new wand and held it loosely in her hand. Then, she brought it close to her nose, scrutinizing it, staring at it,

"It's quite the weapon." Ollivander choked,

"Is it?" She questioned, "What's in it? What's it made of, then?"

"Dogwood laced with doxy wings. 15 and ½ inches. The bend in it will be what he's used to, I hope..."

"Isn't it a bit heavy at the front?"

"I did not make it so..."

"Give him a heavier base on it. He'll want it weightier in his palm."

"Are you sure?" "Am I sure." She scoffed, shoving the wand into his arms

"Here." He drew a thin string of leather from a box and began to wrap the end of the wand.

"That's all?"

"Until he tests it. I wouldn't want to ruin it, Madame...until..."

"Of course." She said coldly.

He had just finished when the door opened again and Ollivander and the witch turned to see Narcissa Malfoy standing there with a quill, a bottle of ink, and a small roll of parchment floating beside her,

"Mrs. Malfoy." The wand maker rarely saw her. She was dressed in a silver gown, her hair somehow whiter than before. She looked as though she was holding her breath. The quill, ink, and parchment soared over to the man, coming to rest on the desk before him, beside the tart and two wands.

"You may write to one family member. The Dark Lord will be checking the finished letter. Don't do anything foolish. He is being most gracious to you."

"How will you deliver it...they are in hiding..."

"I know very well where they are." Bella said softly, "I will deliver it myself if necessary." "Harm them and I'll kill myself." Ollivander rasped, making Narcissa blink

"Understood. There will be no need for that." Bellatrix replied,

"He said you have an hour to compose your letter. That is, if you've finished the wands..."

"I have!" Ollivander snatched up the pen,

"Ah-ah!" Bellatrix took him by the hair, making Narcissa tense up. "You have not polished the other two wands, you lazy bastard."

"No, no, I'd..." He yelped, dropping the quill, "I'd done those already! I've finished with them! Pettigrew's was-was the only one..." And he sighed when she released him,

"Bella..." Narcissa reprimanded quietly. Ollivander dove for the quill and began scribbling immediately,

"What?" Bellatrix rounded on her sister,

"Nothing."

"Good." She growled, then turning to the wand maker and snatching up the three wands, "I'll be back to collect your composition, Ollivander. Come on then, Cissy" And she swept past the younger witch and began to climb the stairs,

"Happy Christmas, Madame Malfoy." Ollivander offered,

"Mhm." She replied

.

Voldemort looked Draco in the eyes,

"If you return to this house without having taken his life, I will kill you before you cross the threshold."

"Yes, Master." Said the boy,

"That means by the end of term."

"Yes, Master."

And then Bellatrix's heels could be heard clacking up the cellar stairs. Voldemort turned, the monstrous tree glittering behind him and the small boy standing beside him. The dark haired witch appeared from around the corner holding three wands. Her sister was not far behind her.

"My Lord." Bellatrix bowed low upon seeing him there.

"Approach."

"The wands, My Lord. All finished." She said, nearing her Master.

Draco was very still as the Dark Lord examined Ollivander's work. Narcissa thought he looked pale. He was trembling.

"Fine. Good." Voldemort said simply,

Narcissa curtsied, but the Dark Lord did not look at her, he simply turned away from Bella and nodded to Draco,

"Enjoy the evening, all of you." And he moved to the staircase, the wands in his grasp,

"Thank you, Master. If you need anything..." Bellatrix started. Draco noticed her cheeks flush. The Dark Lord did not turn or make a reply.

"Draco, darling..." Narcissa murmured, "Are you all right?"

"I have a gifts for you. Both of you." He said coldly and politely,

"Oh, well," She smiled, "Thank you. Did you have enough to eat, my love? You don't look well..."

"Cissy." Bella scoffed, still not looking away from where Voldemort was retreating,

"Mother. Here." Draco took up a wrapped package,

"Thank you, darling." She did not try to kiss his forehead like she wanted to. The parcel floated out of her grasp and began to unwrap itself. Once the paper fell away, a set of crystal tea cups and saucers were revealed, "My dear..."

"And you, Auntie." He gave Bellatrix a smaller envelope, which also opened itself when her fingers touched it. A book had been concealed within it. The binding looked ancient. There were scratches all up the back of it. She did not turn it to show her sister, though.

Bella immediately clutched it to her breast and grinned,

"My boy! Thank you!" And she reached out to pat the side of his face vigorously,

"There are things for you there, darling." Narcissa motioned to a pile of gifts beneath the tree, "Bellatrix, you too."

"Thank you, mother."

"Cissy, you shouldn't have!" She brought a starved hand to her collar,

"Auntie," Draco began as he slowly moved to the packages, "Master told me to tell you..." He squinted, looking to the other side of the tree and pointing with a shaking finger,

"What, Draco?"

"That parcel, the unmarked one, it's for you."

"From..." Bella began, her black eyes wide,

"Him."

"Him? Master? Really?"

"That's what he told me." Draco sat and his mother went to lurk lovingly behind him.

"I know it's not as much as last year..." she sighed,

"I don't care."

Bellatrix flew around the monstrous tree, close to the singing harpsichord. She stood before the unassuming parcel. It was wrapped in simple black paper and tied with a thin, white string. It soared into her hands when she looked upon it. There was no card, there were no bows or trappings, but she couldn't care. Her heart was hammering. It was rare to receive anything from him. She had kept every letter, every gift...

She touched the parcel. Immediately, the wrapping began to slowly burn away, unveiling a lovely little tin. When the paper had turned to ash that pooled just before the hem of the witch's robes on the floor, Bella reached out and took the glossy box from the air. With numb fingers, she opened it.

It was a knife. It had a thin blade that shone so beautifully that it could have been crystal. It bore a lengthy black handle. She wondered if it was cursed, but dared to touch it anyway. If something went wrong, he'd be there to aid her.

Bellatrix took up the weapon. Draco was watching her from across the way, sitting with a new set of robes in his arms. Narcissa glanced at her sister to see what her son was looking at,

"Thoughtful of him." She offered, trying. Bellatrix looked up at her sister with warm tears in her eyes and nodded furiously,

"Isn't it just..." she attempted,

"Mhm." Narcissa agreed.

Draco stood. Nothing in the wrapped packages before him would satisfy him, nothing would excite him, nothing would help him.

"To hell with it." The boy muttered, making to stand,

"My dear?" his mother questioned,

"I'm feeling rather tired." He explained,

"But, my dear..."

"But what, mum?"

"You haven't finished with your..."

"Mum, I'm sorry. I really just...not now."

"It's Christmas, my darling. At breakfast, then?"

"Whatever." He blew by his mother and began to ascend the staircase bitterly,

"Draco."

"Let the boy go." Bellatrix said,

"Bella, really..."

"What the hell is that?" Bellatrix drew her wand, stepped around her flushing sister and moved to the door. She heard the howling before the others did, "My Lord!" She called and immediately, with a soft shattering sound, he appeared at the base of the staircase beside her,

"What is it?"

"Out there. Somebody." Bellatrix croaked definitely and quietly, "At the gate."

"Oh heavens..." Narcissa muttered darkly,

Voldemort turned and flicked a finger at the humming harpsichord behind the tree. It fell silent immediately. Next, he waved his hand, opening the doors. The sound could finally be deciphered and the screaming rushed into the entrance hall with a gust of snowy wind,

"Oy! OY! Sir! Madame Lestrange! My Lord! Sir! Malfoys! Oy, somebody! Sir!"

"Who is it?" Bella asked, but the Dark Lord did not answer. He simply drew his wand and went, barefoot, across the threshold and onto the patio, leaving the warm, glittering lights of the tree behind him

"Bella, come." She was already at his heels. She hesitated only to summon a cloak from the closet with a twist of her wand. It flew to her and fastened itself around her neck as she hurried down the stairs behind her Master, nearly slipping on a patch of ice.

Narcissa went to watch them set out through the snow. Draco stood from the steps and asked, leaning on the banister,

"Can you see anything?"

"It's Greyback."

.

He was clawing at the gates. There was a wolf with him who was pacing a ways down the path, gnashing his teeth. Something was quite wrong.

"What is it?" Voldemort called from afar, the fog of his breath flying back into his face as he flew to meet the werewolves.

"Sylvia!" Fenrir barked. He was clad in the same torn trousers that he always wore. His snow-boots were brown and soaked. The coat he wore was tattered and he was shirtless, revealing the dried blood that ran from his lips to his chest. As the Dark Lord and his most faithful servant neared, they could both see that there was scarlet all over his enormous hands, too,

"What of her?" Said Voldemort, stopping a meter or two from the gate. Bella moved close to him,

"She's gone to the Ministry!" Fenrir bellowed. Bellatrix gasped and looked to her Lord with wild eyes,

"She knows about us here...she's been..." She mumbled, terrified,

"Where is she?" Voldemort asked over Bellatrix's babbling,

"London."

"Why didn't you stop her!" The Dark Lord thrust his wand and the gates were hurled open, knocking Fenrir backwards and into the snow,

"She was too quick!" He managed before Bellatrix slashed him with a swift Cruciatis curse, "Damn you!"

"Bella, wait." Voldemort said quickly, "Greyback how can we track her?"

"That's why I came to you!"

"You've sent your pack?"

"Yes."

"Remedy this, Greyback, or I shall exterminate all of your kind and turn to the vampires, I swear it..." He grabbed Bellatrix's arm roughly and disapparated, sending snow flying into Fenrir's sweaty face.

.

When everything stopped spinning and Bellatrix's feet slammed down onto the asphalt of the city street, the Dark Lord's hot hand had gone from her and she was alone.

"Master?" She called. The boulevard was abandoned and sat silent, lined with rosy Holiday lights. Muggles were all safe in their flats and Voldemort was nowhere to be seen. When the lights of an automobile flickered down the road, Bellatrix dashed to the sidewalk and began to walk towards the corner, squinting through the light dusting of snow at the street sign, which was dripping with icicles. As the car passed, a stream of wind tore past her, hissing in a gloriously familiar tone,

"I am here..."

"Where do I go, Master?"

"Left here, towards the bridge. She'll try to use the underground entrance, I'm sure of it."

"Will you stay with me, Master?"

"Yes. As darkness."

And she looked beside her to see his striking silhouette on the wall, moving with her where her own shadow should have been.

"Thank you, my Lord."

"Run. Quickly. I can sense a duel is underway somewhere close." Voldemort commanded, his disembodied voice distant somehow. Bellatrix obeyed and immediately picked up her skirts and banked left, flying down the quiet street, her frenzied hair bucking off the pins she had woven into it. The shadow of the Dark Lord stretched down the snow-covered sidewalk before her.

.

Narcissa finally sat in Lucius' armchair after Draco left her alone by the Christmas tree. She removed her satin gloves in order to feel the cold leather of the cushion on her skin. Her legs were tired and she leaned back, stretching her neck, breathing.

The ceiling was rippling with the soft, wavering light of the fairies tied on the tree and the candles burning and the fireplace. Closing her eyes, the witch inhaled the scent of the towering pine tree. On any other Christmas it would have smelled the same, looked the same, except his hand would have been on her shoulder and Draco would be thanking her for the presents.

The room was quiet.

She pointed her wand at the harpsichord and enchanted it to sing again. It obeyed without protest and crooned to the witch as she stared into the fire. The leather still smelled like his cigars.

Her eyes flew open at the sound of the door slamming shut. She must have dosed off, her forehead was arm of the chair and her eyes were dry.

"Stupid, bloody half breeds..." Came Bellatrix's strained voice, "The filthy fuckers."

"Idiocy, truly. Pure idiocy." Voldemort said. Narcissa did not stir and she eavesdropped with incredible caution, "I don't know if we will be able to tolerate anything like that again..."

"You don't deserve to be put through any of that, Master..."

"She only got you with that curse, is that right?"

"Thankfully." Bellatrix said, "I despise fighting those things..."

"I would never let them infect you. You know that. I would not send you alone with all of them..."

"You are so wonderful to me, Master."

"You serve me faithfully. Why wouldn't I be?" There was a pause and a rustling of fabric. Narcissa guessed that she had kissed his ring or the hem of his robes, "Your shoulder feels all right?"

"Yes, My Lord."

"Shall I have a look?"

"I...My Lord, I think it's fine, but if you'd like to examine it I..."

"Bleeding?"

"Not bad, Sir."

"Let me see." Narcissa heard Bellatrix's cloak flutter back into the wardrobe near the door, "You didn't get any of her blood on you?"

"No, Master. I shouldn't have..."

"You should bathe to be sure. Don't touch your mouth or your eyes, understood?"

"Of course, My Lord."

"Let me seal that up." Voldemort must have performed a healing charm because, through her eyelashes, Narcissa saw a white glow spill across the tile for a moment,

"Thank you, Master."

"Bella, you're a good girl."

"Thank you, Master." Only her sister could hear the deep-rooted affection in her older sister's tone,

"What a dreadful woman she was." Voldemort said softly, "They have so much to do in order to regain my favor..."

"Horrible beasts."

"I know...The giants will, hopefully, be better behaved."

"Mhm..."

"You did well." The Dark Lord said in a tone that Narcissa had never encountered, "Bella, come and..."

Narcissa yelped. Nagini was sliding over her feet.

"What?' Voldemort asked, surprised,

"Cissy-" Bellatrix began before the snake began to hiss to her master in parseltongue. Voldemort did not answer his pet, but simply nodded and then said,

"Wash up. Rest. I will speak with you tomorrow..."

"Thank you for the knife, Master."

"Of course. It will always strike true. It can cut through dragon hide. Use it wisely, Bella."

"Yes, sir..." She replied, devotedly.

And he was gone.

"Narcissa, how long have you been there?"

"I don't know." The witch lied to her sister groggily, "I just woke up when the snake..." She stood from the chair to see Nagini slowly climbing the stairs. Bellatrix looked haggard in the entryway. Her hair had fallen down and her dress was wet with snow and blood. "Oh heavens, look at you."

"I'm all right."

"To the bath?"

"Yes."

"In a moment, after..." She nodded to Nagini,

"For your sake, all right." Bellatrix agreed,

"What happened?"

"Do you want to know?"

"As much as you think I can take."

"Fenrir's mate of sorts, Sylvia Shunpike, she went rogue, I suppose." Bella said, coughing, "I need to sit for a minute..."

"Of course, of course. Heavens, your endurance at your age amazes me. I could never...well, you know all of that." And Narcissa moved to allow her sister to lower herself into Lucius' lovely armchair, "What prompted it? The woman's behavior? It wasn't just random or was it?"

"Well, no. Greyback had devoured their son, apparently-"

"Oh my goodness. Her son? Oh, goodness!"

"But it's Fenrir Greyback, it's a community of werewolves, things like that happen all the time, she shouldn't have been surprised..."

"What happened?"

"She was angry, I suppose. Stupidly went to the Ministry, well, she tried... we headed her off, thankfully."

"My god..."

"I fought her, for the most part. She was absolutely wild."

"How old was he?"

"Huh?"

"The boy that-that Greyback..."

"Oh, the boy. He was, I don't really know. When I saw him months ago he looked like he was barely a toddler? Maybe four?"

"Oh my..."

"Werewolves are just sick, aren't they?"

"Oh my..."

"Anyway, she was awfully screwed up in the head or something. Cracked. She kept yelling at me, too, before I finished her off. She was just saying men would ruin me. Said it over and over. Told me to run. She was really a mess. Those werewolves...I'm telling you, Cissy..."

"Stop, please."

"I..."

"Please."

"Sorry, Cissy."

"It's all right, Bella." Narcissa breathed, "Best get to the bath."

"Right." The Death Eater stood,

"I think I'll stay down here a minute or two."

"Well, Happy Christmas. Sorry it was interrupted. Blasted half breeds."

"It's perfectly fine." Narcissa said, pale-faced, "Draco had had enough anyway."

"Goodnight, Cissy."

"Goodnight." And Narcissa reclaimed Lucius' armchair when her sister stood and began up the staircase. The leather had lost its familiar, smoky scent and, now, only smelled like the salt of sweat and blood.


	28. Mother

The peace of the spring evening was shattered by a figure that appeared before the gates, dressed in pale summer robes and bearing shaking hands with frail fingers. The witch pocketed her wand and ran to the bars, gripping them silently, desperately. Someone from the otherside was sweeping towards her, from the looming, glittering castle. It was a dark figure and could eventually be recognized as Severus Snape, his cloak streaming behind him.  
He rushed to meet the witch, his jaw set. When he neared, he could see Narcissa Malfoy's face in the lantern light. Her blonde hair was loose, framing her pale, bare face. For once, she looked her age, her grave expression unyielding and her light eyes blazing into him.

She stepped back from the gate when he opened it and then, after a breath, flew at the wizard, wandless,

"Fuck you." Narcissa seethed, not striking or grabbing him, but drawing so close that he could see the tears restrained in her eyes. Snape did not shy from her, but stared back before turning and leading her up the path.  
"I can only do so much."

As he had expected, the woman tore past him, her hair and silk robes flying behind her like the tail of a comet. Narcissa sprinted up the hill, the night shaking around her, her breath searing in her throat. She could not hear Severus running behind her, she could not hear him speaking to her...

Her heart was screaming when she strode down the corridor. The doors to the Hospital Wing swung open for her, slamming up against the walls.

"Narcissa, he is not fully recovered..." Snape's voice echoed around her in the hall.  
The chamber before her was pulsing with a calm, cool lamplight. She passed vacant beds, drawn curtains...It was just like one of her nightmares. There were his feet, his pale, soft, untouched feet, shaking there at the edge of that cot...  
"Draco!"

He was dressed in bandages which had spots of scarlet all over them. Though the sheets were pulled up over his lower half, it was obvious that the wrappings and damage extended there too, all down his legs. He was breathing, but unmoving, except for his feet, which were trembling with pain, even in his unconsciousness.  
Madame Pomfrey, who had been standing at the head of the bed, and Severus were shaken by the reverberating cry of the mother. They watched as Narcissa threw herself gracelessly and shamelessly at her only son's bedside. She kneaded the edge of the mattress, finally breaking out into relentless sobs. The noises that rose up from the depths of her were raw, primal.  
The bandaged boy did not stir, not even when his mother took his hand and brought it to her face, weeping with relief, and horror, and pain...  
"How much longer does he have to sleep..." The nurse asked Snape quietly, over Narcissa's crying,

"I have to do the counter curses once more. By the end of the hour it should be all right to wake him." Severus replied.  
When Narcissa at last fell quiet, with her forehead resting against her son's gauzy arm, a sort of rumbling could be heard from somewhere. Snape raised a hand to stop Madame Pomfrey from saying anything as Mrs. Malfoy looked up at the two of them, never releasing her son's hand. The soft thundering was far more noticeable now that she was staring at them with those scorching, ghostly eyes, made all the more ice blue by the redness around them.  
She took a breath. There was a ringing and a trembling. Then, the shelf of potions a few meters away simply burst. Glass cascaded to the floor as everything splashed and spilled. Pomfrey yelped in surprise. Snape stepped aside to avoid the shower of shards. The shaking ceased.

"Who is responsible for this." Narcissa uttered professionally, but unapologetically, her voice as soft as the dripping of the potions leaking to the tile.

"Please, Missus Malfoy," Pomfrey attempted smoothly and surely, "the boys got into a fight..."

"Who? Their parents should be contacted immediately. I should hope they would be expelled for this sort of behavior."

"May I tell you about his condition first, Missus Malfoy?" The nurse interjected. Snape nodded and Narcissa obliged,

"Please, do, Madame Pomfrey." The aristocrat said, rising, smoothing her robes but not bothering to wipe the tears pouring over her cheeks,

"It was a dark curse, as my note stated, but Severus, thankfully, knows how to work the counter curse. He caught it immediately. He was at the scene immediately after your son was hit."  
"That's all very well, but my son has been attacked." Narcissa managed. Pomfrey drew in a breath and pushed a strand of grey hair from her face. She sized up the other witch for a moment before speaking,  
"Yes..."

"Well," Narcissa raised her eyebrows, glancing at Snape, "I think I am entitled to know how this happened." And her hand went to Draco's shoulder,  
"Harry Potter and your son engaged in a duel." Severus said quietly and precisely, "In the abandoned girl's lavatory on the third floor. I have not yet inquired as to what the spat was about..."  
"I don't very well care what it was about." She said defiantly, squeezing Draco's limp arm, "I wouldn't even care who initiated it, quite frankly. You're saying Potter used dark magic..."

"So it would seem..." Snape said, his eyes cold and distant as he looked at the witch,  
"And will it scar? Will he be marred for ever?"

"No." Said Pomfrey after returning from where she had been repairing the shelf and vials of potions..."Not since Severus healed your son so expertly."

"I want him to come home with me." She said suddenly, "This is no place for him."

"He'll be well again before the week is out..." Severus insisted softly,  
"Well I would like to call him back home until then." Narcissa looked at him with wild amounts of venom in her stare, but Snape stood, of course, unblinking.  
"That would be unwise. The best treatment he can receive can be offered here and by myself, personally." Severus nodded, unwavering.  
Draco stirred.  
Narcissa rushed to feel his forehead, her stony expression falling away,  
"Draco...dear..."  
And he fell still again  
And his mother steeled herself again,  
"I will be taking him."

"That won't be necessary." Pomfrey tried,  
"I don't care. It's what will be done."  
"He is under the care of this school. He was injured here. We are responsible for him, Missus Malfoy..." The nurse persisted, "We, in the past, have had many concerned parents request the same thing. Our policy still stands. 'Injured here. Healed here.'"  
"There has to be something I can do..." It was not a plea, it was a demand and it was cut off by the nurse,

"Nothing that we cannot do better or just as well." Pomfrey said kindly, looking to Severus, who remained silent, much to her dismay, "I promise."  
If Lucius had still been on the board of governors...Narcissa shifted her weight and took a deep breath,  
"Very well." And she pursed her lips, her glance going to Draco once again before she said diplomatically, "You must forgive my unpleasantness..." Snape watched her intently as she navigated... "I am just shocked, I suppose. I just don't think it's right..."

"Oh no, certainly not. Certainly not." Said Pomfrey, trying to be amiable and easy, "Missus Malfoy, I understand your situation in its entirety, or rather, at least, as entirely as one could. It was absolutely unacceptable of Mister Potter and this entire mess is a regrettable happening and, thankfully, a rare one. It is justifiable that you feel rather worried." Rather worried was an understatement and they all knew it,  
"I just needed to hear that. Thank you." Said Narcissa, a degree of strain ebbing into her tone, "Now, Potter used a most brutal curse upon my son, I expect that the school..."  
"He will face severe consequences. Expulsion has been discussed." Severus said, staring at the woman. "Suspension. We shall see. Hogwarts will not take this as trivial, you can be certain of the Missus Malfoy."  
"My son could have been killed."  
Severus did not need to be told that.  
"But he was not." Snape said.  
"But what if..."  
"He was not."  
"Professor Snape-"  
"Missus Malfoy."  
"I demand a meeting with Headmaster Dumbl-"  
"Missus Malfoy." Snape silenced her.  
Madame Pomfrey looked from the man to the woman and back and forth again, keeping very still. There was something trembling between them, something in the air. She knew they knew one another, perhaps years ago, but there was a horrible silence in which they simply stared at one another, their eyes fighting fiercely in the silence.  
"Missus Malfoy." Severus continued, "Your son is safe." Thanks to him, "He is being cared for. Justice will be seen. A reprimand will come. What more could you ask of this school?" She was drawing attention. She was certainly drawing attention. And his black gaze intended to alert her of that,  
"You may visit him on the weekends." Madame Pomfrey offered. But Narcissa's frown only deepened as she said,  
"Thank you." There were tears in her eyelashes again, but her face was stone.  
"You may stay and sit beside him for a little while, if you would like."  
"I will supervise her." Severus said to the nurse, "so that you might to return to your work."  
"Thank you, Severus." And then she said as cordially as she could, "Have a good evening, Missus Malfoy."  
Madame Pomfrey let her eyes linger on the two of them for an appropriate moment and then, they fell to the sleeping boy, whose brow had furrowed during the course of the conversation. And then, the witch turned, her hands clasped together .  
Narcissa looked fiercely away from the man and sat down with her son.  
There was a clicking of a door.  
There was a silence again.  
And Narcissa truly looked at the boy, the bandages, his limp hands, his darkened eyes. He looked five years older than he should as he lay there. What had he seen since the holidays. What had he done. How did that fight begin? If only he'd write...  
She reached out and touched her son's slender hand. It was warm. Upon realiing that, her chest rose a little. How easy it was to imagine his fingers to be cold, frozen, blue... The witch squeezed lightly and then made to touch the boy's hair.  
"I never knew you to be such a rash woman."  
"No one has ever done such a thing to my son." Her fingers were slowly combing through his blonde locks  
"I suggest you leave."  
She looked up at him with a cold fire,  
"Leave, Narcissa. Before you are met with another unnecessary conversation. Consider if the Headmaster were to..."  
"A peer, Severus." She withdrew her touch and folded her hands viciously, looking up into the man's face. "A boy. A fellow student did something like this to him. Can you not protect him from..."  
Their voices were barely there anymore. They were leaning near behind the curtains around the cot...  
Severus raised his hand swiftly and exhaled to her,  
"I cannot spare him from his own foolishness."  
"You must."  
"Not in these matters."  
"You promised."  
"I promised what I promised and no more." He said, looming over her, "More would be impossible."  
Draco lay there peacefully as they argued across his still form. His breathing was regular but shallow. His eyes were moving behind their lids. Awake or asleep, he did not stir...  
"Leave now, Narcissa."  
"Leave him with you when I could prote-"  
"This is no place to speak of this. Get out."  
"You.."  
"He is well. It is being dealt with. Get out."  
"Severus, don't you even dare..."  
"Leave. This is no place-"  
"My son is in pain."  
"Every mother's son is in pain. And every son's mother is in pain because there comes a point where some things must be endured alone."  
They held each other's eyes again.  
"Get out." He repeated.  
"Just a moment..." And this time, she stopped herself.  
And Narcissa gazed at Draco. And she stood. And she fixed her hair. And she swept passed Severus and disappeared into the hall.

Severus Snape often saw too much. Knew too much.

He had seen her very clearly tonight when he looked into her mind. She had let him. She had shown him.

Breakfast alone. Bellatrix speaking silently. Midnight hallways. Voldemort's feet. He had seen her seeing herself in the mirror as she adorned her make-up, her fingers trembling. Nagini. Nagini. Nagini in the flowerbeds. An empty chair at the table. An empty chair in the parlor. An empty bed. And then, Draco's chambers, vast and quiet. His mother weeping at his desk, her tears on the wood her hands holding tightly to herself as if her son had already died.

And he had had to send her back to all of it.

But Severus Snape knew more than most. And he knew that this woman was strong enough, even if she didn't.


	29. Nagini's Act

Somewhere in the shadows of the house, something was awakened and angered. Because somewhere else entirely, someone else entirely was thinking what he should not be, what he should never...

The serpent was galvanized.

She knew what was best. She silently sprang from beneath Lucius' chair, where she had been wrapped around herself, and began to slither down the corridor in the darkness with lethal determination.

_'Finished. Finished. I want it finished. You are stronger than this. I shall choke the weed for you. I shall kill the killer. She is killing you, us. I will do what your part of us cannot.'  
._  
All was still that evening at Malfoy Manor. Bellatrix sat beside the pool in the sweet heat of the stretching, glass chamber, her eyes half closed, her legs over the edge. She let the quiet whispers of the water against the polished marble urge her to relax.  
It was late, quite late. It was dim by the poolside, the only light coming from the glowing flowers upon the water and from two lamps upon the walls. She had wandered here again, to ease her mind. Lately, she had been forgetting. Recollections had been jumbled. Pieces were missing. She cursed Azkaban for it...  
Her frail hands kneaded her emerald nightrobes, a gift from Narcissa for the holidays a few months ago, which were rolled up to her thighs. She let her legs float up and float down in the clear, lukewarm water. Her toes, whenever they found the surface, often brushed one of Draco's luminescent lilypads.  
In two months it would be a year without Rodolphus. It was becoming hard to recall his face in her mind's eye. Life was terribly strange without him, though not necessarily lonely. Or was it? It was difficult for Bellatrix Lestrange to tell what loneliness felt like. But she knew she did feel it. Though, she had never been entirely alone in the physical sense; sisters, comrades, a husband. Now it was Narcissa and only Narcissa for the most part. Company was, therefore, slimmer than ever before. Perhaps that is what lead the witch to worry about herself, to worry about herself missing him and Him more than ever.  
She looked up at the glass ceiling. She could see the lamp light from her bedroom glinting like a little, disfigured star. But clearer than that, she could see herself reflected there, a tiny dollish sort of apparition. It was as if she was looking down upon herself from the heavens. And in this fashion, like a deity, she observed the entire pool area. The lilypads, the glittering tile; all of it was transparent, barely there, untouchable.

Bellatrix closed her eyes; an action that could prove fatal...

And she sinned again, she meditated on Him.

After all these years, the same fantasies were still a comfort. Her hands were tightening in the silk. He had asked her to banish such thoughts...

Bellatrix did not see Nagini enter the chamber.

The serpent stayed close to the wall, her yellow eyes on the Death Eater as she moved slowly, tasting the murky air. She went quietly. If the woman had a wand, her efforts would be in vain. Then again, she doubted that the witch would do a thing. When she tore her open, perhaps, Bellatrix would praise the Dark Lord; as she should. Because Nagini's will was his will somehow.

The tile was cool on her belly as she moved soundlessly beneath the chic patio chairs, streamlined now, towards the water. The witch was not looking at her. Even from a distance the snake could sense the nature of Bellatrix's thoughts, which only made her quicken her pace across the floor.

_'She dares...'  
._

Nagini drew in a breath through her thin nostrils.

The snake dipped her head beneath the water, her thick body followed.  
If Bellatrix would have opened her eyes in her revelry to stare up at the glass ceiling again, she would have seen the swerving shadow in the glowing, cerulean water. But she was happily lost in the decadent, delusional darkness behind her eyelids.

Beneath the surface of the lengthy pool, Nagini observed Bellatrix's white legs, which were now stiffly set against the wall, her heels pressing into the marble. And the serpent swept through the shuddering shafts of light that the lilypads cast into the water.

The Death Eater was dreaming deeply, frozen there, her neck bared, her face skywards. Her thin lips were slightly ajar, showing her ugly teeth and the blackness behind them. Those skinny hands opened and closed over her legs.

The snake was gaining speed with each lash of her powerful tail. Her scaled lips were pressed shut. Her head cut through the peaceful water. The Dark Lord's weapon set out to kill her fellow weapon...

Bellatrix gave a strained sigh in the silence.

The serpent flew. Nagini's body coiled. She shot forward.

The Death Eater's eyes flashed open. Her leg exploded in poisonous pain. And then some horrible grip gave a ferocious jerk and she was slipping. First, her elbows crashed down upon the tile. Then her head met the floor. Bellatrix let out a shriek that was suddenly drowned with water.

Nagini, her jaw wide, tore the woman down into the depths with her, trailing scarlet that swirled like cream around them. Bellatrix was thrashing, wide-eyed and wandless, the pain overtaken by shock now. And she reached for the bloodied surface of the pool. She was falling, her black hair fanning out around her, her silk nightrobe getting tangled about her leaking leg.  
And the snake released her. She could feel Nagini's body rocketing around her. The snake wrapped about the woman's middle and pulled herself tight.  
A gasp was pushed from Bellatrix's throat. More bubbles flew up into the tossing water. And then, the snake withdrew again and swept up under her. She could feel the poison in her now...  
In the silence, Nagini's teeth fell into the woman's side, just beneath her breast. Those unforgiving fangs dove between the witch's ribs.

Bellatrix's vision flickered. The poison took her. Her white limbs fell limp. Her black eyes stared, unseeing. Her mouth opened. The water swept down her throat.

_'Justice...'  
._  
And then, glass rained into the water. The shards shone as they shot down, through the rosy water. The glittering debris hung around the entangled forms of the snake and her prey in the silence. The ceiling had broken.

Nagini felt him enter the chamber before she saw him enter the chamber. Voldemort was a dark shadow descending. And then, from where she watched, below the surface, he swept out of sight. The water around the serpent began to churn. She dropped the woman's body and tried to flee through the shrapnel and scarlet, but the grip of the new, cursed current grabbed her. She lurched about and saw Bellatrix, in her brokenness, ascend with her hair streaming behind her like the tangled tail of a comet.

The flurry of bubbles were sounding around the serpent like canon fire.

Out of the water, it was a quieter world. The spell tormenting the snake was just a lapping against tile and a hiss of rosy spray as the pool sloshed in a tempestuous blur. The lilly pads had all been drowned and devastated by the waves, of course. And Voldemort stood there, the hem of his robes sopping as he held out his wand and stared into the churning depths. Bellatrix's body was lying, slick with scarlet, at his feet. Her eyes were pressed shut.

With a stab of that wand, the water turned away into nothing in a soft roar of wind. Nagini was twitching, battered at the dry bottom of the pool, near the drain, framed in powdered glass. And then, the Dark Lord looked away from the sight to crane down and reach with a tense hand to turn Bellatrix's head sort of roughly. He pressed his foot upon her stomach and stepped down. Water bled out of her lips and she began to shake.

_'You doubt my judgment, Nagini.' _He expected it to take her a moment to answer. It certainly did.

'_You…..doubt mine.'_

'_You've damaged a good weapon.'_

'Oh, stop-' The snake moaned spitefully,

'_Never forget which of us has the superior form. Never forget again.'_

'There is-there is something wrong with yours! AND YOU KNOW IT.'

'You will not interfere. I have enough people against me, I won't have you against me.'

'I am for us….' Her voice was so weak, it was barely a breath, but it resonated in the cement pool.

'_When you can move again, you will leave and you will go into the forest and live like the animal you inhabit-'_

'Why are you doing this? It will only hurt you, as well-'

'I know. And it will be your fault. You'll never do this again. I want you away. I want you to know dirt and toil and sickness. If anything is to be my downfall it will not be self doubt.'

'You're sick! S-s-something is-is sick in you-'

'SILENCIO!' With that, Voldemort shot down to his knees and pressed his hand callously to one of Bellatrix's wound. It was already warm with pus and toxic bile. Nagini had torn mercilessly. The seizing witch had managed to gargle weakly. Her eyes were still shut. Her yellow teeth were clenched.

The poison was in her, in the blood still crawling out of her and onto the floor and the hem of his velvet cloak and between his white fingers. She would be bedridden. She would not be able to accompany her nephew on his task as she had begged to.

Nagini had made her point very clear and dangerously deep.

What was she? Woman or weapon? What should she be? Which was she more often? Which was she more importantly? Voldemort locked away a thousand other thoughts and handled her harshly, perhaps to prove something to Nagini and prove something to himself, as he set about healing the witch in the new stillness of the room. There was only the chorus of Nagini's ragged, uneven gasps for breath. And, eventually, there came the clicking of Narcissa's heels and a quiet, echoing cry from the blonde witch in the doorway. She was ignored.

Voldemort heard the snake stir, eventually. He heard her drag herself up the steps and out of the pool and out the door and away.


	30. Nausea

A slow, shaking breath.

That dull pang over and over.

Spinning.

"Bella?" It was a tired voice, Narcissa's voice.

Morning light , perhaps, and then shadows upon shadows upon deeper shadows again and such dreams.

That familiar, dull pain.

Over and over. Light and dark.

"Bella…"

"Has she stirred?"

A freezing hand.

A freezing cloth.

A fever dream or two.

And finally…

Her hand moved under the cold silk. Her skin was moist with sick sweat and then there was gauze.

Her eyes opened tentatively, wearily and she lifted her head, which was throbbing numbly. The room was hers and dawn or twilight was bleeding through the sheer curtains. It was as if she were gazing out at the suite through a veil, her eyelids were so heavy. Everything was neat and in order, someone had tidied up. Narcissa reclined, asleep, with a book in her lap and her head against the back of the armchair just a little ways away,

"Cissy." Her voice was low and weighty. Her sister did not stir until she repeated, "Cissy…"

Narcissa blinked at her. Had she always looked this old? Was it just a trick of shadows? Were her eyes always so…

"Oh, goodness. Oh, good." Mrs. Malfoy murmured, setting her book aside and rising drowsily from her chair, "Bella. Oh, good, good. How do you feel?"

With her sister's inquiry, Bellatrix remembered all at once.

Nagini.

Suddenly the pain in her stomach was very real and very raw. She tried to sit up but her body hitched in discomfort. She felt her vision shudder a little as the nausea hit. Bellatrix laid back and replied,

"What's happened…"

"Are you all right?"

"I don't know. Am I? What's happened…" She hissed quietly, turning on her side. She felt the mattress bend a little when her sister sat beside her, "Cissy…"

"Nagini got at you." The younger witch explained. And Bellatrix, through the blurry pain wondered, distressed,

"How long has it been?"

"Just five days…"

"Why…"

"That isn't for me to answer."

"Was it His bidding? Is this His will? What have I done? Narcissa…" She moaned, her fright only making her stomach turn faster and the panging more prominent. Was it the dreams? Was it her fault? Did he know? He must have…

"Shh. He's not angry with you. He's not angry with you." Narcissa stopped her sister from starting to scratch at herself, "Not that he's told me. Shh. Shh, now. It's early. It's barely seven thirty. Shh…"

"Where is He?"

"I don't know. He did not say. He'll return soon enough. Relax…"

"I c-…can't move my legs properly. Cissy. Cissy, I can't move my legs properly-"

"That's fine, that's fine. You're fine. The potion is working. You couldn't move a stitch at all before." Narcissa's light voice was even lighter now, it was a wisp of what it was, "You'll be all right in a few weeks…"

"Weeks? I…I have work to do. I have to…"

"Don't." Narcissa held her shoulder down with her little hand, "Don't…Not so quickly, please. Please."

"I am to escort Greyback into Hogwarts. Draco. Dumbledore. The cabinet- I'm to see to it that Draco…" Despite her sister's efforts, Bellatrix sidled to the edge of the bed and made to swing her dead legs over the side, "I can't…"

"You mustn't." Narcissa blocked her way, sighing, "You mustn't. Bellatrix, rest. He will attend to you and answer…"

Sitting up had stirred her head and brought on a stinging ache in her temple. Her vision wavered. She laid back and her sister's voice drifted into warm silence again…


End file.
